Taking Back Time
by lindir's gaze
Summary: "This is not something to be used lightly, Bilbo. The shift of the smallest pebble can cause a landslide, just as the changes you make now may have drastic consequences in the future." [Time Travel AU] (Previously titled The Pebble Effect)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

When Bilbo finally came to, he immediately wished he hadn't. A splitting pain shot through his left temple, making him wince as he blinked against a blinding white light. It was too intense for him to do anything more than squint, but he could make out swirling dark shapes above.

Eventually, the pain subsided slightly, along with the ringing in his ears, and he was able to open his eyes a bit wider.

The shapes had feathers. They darted along the cloudy white landscape, playing a deadly game of chase with a group of monstrously large bats.

"The eagles." His voice was raspy, and slightly muffled by the ringing in his ears. "The eagles are coming."

With a wince, Bilbo pushed himself into a sitting position. He was lying on the snowy ground, his back bruised from landing atop an uneven pile of rocks. The side of his face was damp, and when he brought a few fingers up to touch it, he realized with horror that it was—

Blood. The battle.

_Thorin_.

He pushed himself to his feet and let out a groan as his head gave a nasty twinge. But there was no time to sit and nurse his wounds. Before he had been knocked out, he'd been trying to find Thorin, to make sure he was safe, to get him out of Ravenhill before the army from the north could arrive.

His feet hit the cold stone in time with the pounding ache in his head and the frantic flutter of his heartbeat. A group of goblins had split them all up. He'd caught a glimpse of Fíli and Kíli and Dwalin fighting in a group, and then he'd been running in search of Thorin. He'd dashed around a corner, straight into a group of orcs and then...

_It doesn't matter now_. He had to make sure his friends were safe.

A dark shape plummeted from above, and Bilbo jumped back with a yelp. The corpse of a giant bat almost as large as him hit the stone, its neck turned at an unnatural angle and its beady eyes gazing blankly.

Bilbo swallowed hard and pushed on. The snow was getting thicker, and his foot sent up a spray of white as he nearly slipped. He had no idea where Thorin might be—the whole fortress had gone eerily quiet save for the cries of the eagles above.

Abruptly, the maze of solid stone came to an end, and Bilbo found himself on the edge of a pale blue expanse split by cracks of indigo. In the center of the ice was a familiar dark-haired dwarf facing down a white tower of muscle.

Azog swung the blade embedded in his arm, forcing Thorin to take a step back to avoid his throat being sliced open. He dodged again as the orc pressed him with a series of quick, brutal swipes.

Bilbo stepped closer, his heart caught in his throat. He hadn't forgotten the last time Thorin had faced down the Pale Orc. He had no idea how long the fight had been going on, but Thorin was clearly exhausted, his movements getting slower and less deliberate with each step.

Whatever happened, he couldn't let Thorin face this alone.

The chill of the ice cut into his skin, even through the thick soles of his feet, as he stepped onto the frozen surface. Bilbo stiffened as a low _crack_ sounded from below, and the surface began to break apart.

But that was soon forgotten as a low cry echoed across the ice. Thorin staggered back, blood dripping to the ground from the cut in his abdomen. With a growl, he recovered and lunged for Azog. The orc was waiting for him, a cruel sneer revealing sharp teeth. He shoved aside Thorin's blade with his metal gauntlet and drew back his bladed arm.

Bilbo's vision narrowed to that small island of ice smeared with blood, and the two figures that stood upon it. His feet were moving before he'd told them to, and the ice cracked treacherously beneath each step.

The sun flashed on the red-stained blade, and Azog plunged it into Thorin's chest.

_No_.

It was a resounding thought, a whisper, a scream, and above it all Bilbo could hear the ragged gasp that escaped the dwarf's lips, followed by a rush of blood.

Bilbo reached out one hand towards him, his heart beating so hard it was painful, and everything seemed to slow. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and a strange tingle started in his fingertips.

Azog's sword slid out of Thorin's chest. The ice beneath Bilbo's feet shifted. He glanced down, his hand still outstretched, and realized with a jolt of shock that the cracks were disappearing.

Then time seemed to snap back into motion, and a rush of images filled his vision—

—_the cracks in the ice sealing up—a spray of snow falling towards his unsteady feet—the limp corpse of a bat darting into the sky_—

Bilbo sat up with a gasp, chest heaving.

He was back in the courtyard where he'd been knocked out.

Shaking, he reached up to find the blood on his face was still wet. The eagles were still soaring above, and his head was still throbbing.

_What on earth just happened?_

Perhaps it had all been a dream, a disturbingly realistic nightmare caused by a rather nasty blow to the head. After riding barrels to escape from elves, facing down a dragon, and walking over enchanted gold, a strange dream was hardly out of the ordinary...whatever "ordinary" even meant anymore.

Bilbo stood up, wobbling on unsteady legs. Having a headache was no excuse for not finding his friends in the middle of a battle, and neither was a strange dream. He pushed himself into a run again, trying in vain to quell the feeling that there was something terribly wrong.

The feeling only intensified as the bat fell from the sky again, nearly landing on his toes. Bilbo barely spared it a glance as he ran on, though the image remained burned in his mind.

This—whatever it was—was happening all over again, exactly the way it had before. And if it continued like that, if he reached the ice and had to watch…

The snow slid beneath his feet, nearly throwing him off balance. Bilbo sucked in a panicked breath and pushed himself into a sprint. He couldn't let it happen again.

The same scene was waiting for him when he reached the ice—Thorin fending off blow after punishing blow from Azog's massive form.

Bilbo hopped in place for a moment, trying to find a safe path across the ice. With a groan of frustration, he stepped onto the shifting mass and fought to regain his balance as the piece beneath his feet tilted. He rushed to the next one, walking across the slippery surface as fast as he could. More cracks began to form with each step, though thankfully the ice did not break.

But he couldn't find enough traction with his bare feet, and he was still a good distance away when Thorin was struck once more. Azog's blade whipped to the side, spattering the white surface with red.

Fear, absolute and overwhelming, rose in Bilbo's chest, threatening to drown him. He couldn't watch this again. Desperation burned through the fear in the form of a harsh cry.

"_Stop!_"

He wasn't sure why he shouted that particular word, but it...worked.

The sparse flakes of snow hung suspended in the air like the ornaments they would use to decorate the Yule trees back in the Shire. Azog stood still, a droplet of blood stuck to the end of his sword. Thorin's face was caught on the threshold of pain and anger.

A slight tingle had started in his fingertips, and as Bilbo focused, the snow began to rise. Azog's blade moved backwards across Thorin's chest, sealing the cut it had caused. The cracks in the ice beneath Bilbo's feet vanished.

The tingling grew in intensity, becoming almost painful, and Bilbo finally let go. The snow began to fall once more, and Thorin stepped back once more to avoid Azog's strikes.

Bilbo drew his sword and charged.

Thorin caught sight of him a moment before Azog did. His eyes widened, the beginnings of a warning forming on his lips, but Bilbo lunged forward and sunk his little blade into the orc's thigh. Azog roared in pain, his metal gauntlet slashing out and catching Bilbo in the side of the face.

Pain exploded along his cheek, and Bilbo fell with a gasp.

The sharpness of the sensation, combined with the blood running fresh down his skin, only served to sharpen his senses. He could feel the biting cold of the ice beneath his fingers, could see the flitting shadows of the eagles on the slick surface, could hear the echoing cry of Thorin's voice followed by the wet, awful sound of a blade cutting through flesh.

He winced, biting down against the taste of blood in his mouth, and pushed himself to his feet. The broken piece of ice they were standing on wobbled dangerously, nearly sending him to the ground again.

In the next moment, Thorin's hands were on his arms, pulling him upright, and his concerned face was inches from his own. "Bilbo. Are you all right?"

"I—" He broke off with a groan. It hurt to talk.

Past Thorin's shoulder, he could see Azog's still corpse, pinned to the ice by Orcrist.

"Come on." With both hands still on his arms, Thorin guided him towards solid ground. It took them a while to make it over the slippery surface, but eventually they both made it to safety.

Bilbo could hear the pounding of his pulse in his ears. Now that neither of them were in danger, his adrenaline began to fade, and there was nothing left to distract him from the magnitude of what had just happened.

Somehow, with but a gesture of his hand, he had turned back time, had saved Thorin from death.

The image came to him once more, sharper and more painful than a blow to the face—Azog's sword embedded in Thorin's chest, blood rushing from the wound—

It was Thorin's hand on his face that finally brought him back to reality. Gently, the dwarf tilted his chin up so he could better inspect the wound on his cheek. "It isn't too deep. We'll still have to get you to a healer, though."

Bilbo looked back at him, looked past the layers of blood and grime, and relief melted a measure of the fearful tension he'd been carrying with him for the past few days. Gone was the grim, hostile mask he had worn under the dragon sickness. All that was left now was _Thorin_—his kindness, his courage, his quiet strength.

Without quite knowing what he was doing, Bilbo leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the dwarf's neck, savoring the opportunity to be close to him again. Somehow, they'd both made it through the nightmare that had been the past few weeks.

A moment later, Thorin returned the embrace, fully closing the distance between them. His heartbeat was a comforting rhythm against Bilbo's chest, gradually slowing from its frantic, battle-ready pace.

"I owe you an apology," Thorin said, the slight tremor in his voice betraying just how much of an understatement he believed it to be.

Bilbo drew back, absently noting that some of his blood had been smeared on Thorin's coat. He'd been dreading having this conversation—though given recent events, he should have been grateful that they were having it at all.

Thorin's voice was low and unsteady. "I would take back my words and my deeds at the gate. You did what only a true friend would do. I...I was too blind to see." He lifted his gaze to the wound on Bilbo's face. "I'm so sorry that I have led you into such peril."

"Thorin." The pain in his cheek flared up as he spoke, but he pushed past it. "I'm glad to have shared in all your perils—each and every one of them. It's far more than any Baggins deserves." He drew in a shaky breath. "I forgive you. Of course I forgive you."

The uncertainty did not disappear from his face, but Thorin nodded nonetheless and said, "Let's get out of here. We need to get you patched up."

They made their way down from Ravenhill, through the scarred plains beneath the mountain, and into Dale, where a group of buildings had already been designated for the wounded.

The battle had been won, the orcs driven away from the mountain, but Bilbo had not been prepared for what it had cost them. There were countless bodies strewn about the battlefield, and many on the streets of the city as well. He tried to keep his eyes focused ahead, tried not to dwell on the image of blank eyes and twisted limbs, but it didn't help much—and that wasn't counting the smell. The scent of death and blood and excrement seemed to hang over the whole area like a haze.

Bilbo didn't remember entering a building, but the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a bench indoors and someone was dabbing at his face with a damp cloth. He glanced around, hoping to find Thorin, but it seemed he'd gone elsewhere.

"This'll need stitches," said the woman cleaning his face. "It'll probably scar, too." She pulled out a flask of something and poured a bit onto the cloth. "This is going to sting. Badly."

Despite her warning, Bilbo still wasn't ready for the agony that flared up as soon as the cloth touched his face. He leaned back with a yelp, one hand flying up defensively, and the woman froze.

"S-Sorry, I didn't think it was going to hurt that...much…" He trailed off as he realized she was not listening to him at all. Her hand was still holding the cloth out towards his face, her eyes focused on the spot where he'd just been, and she was not moving at all. Just outside the door, an elvish soldier was frozen mid-step.

_Oh, dear. I've done it again_. The tingling had begun again in his fingertips. He looked down at them, expecting to see some sort of ethereal light—anything to indicate that something strange was happening, but there was nothing.

As soon as he relaxed, the world jolted into motion again. The woman only sighed, as though she hadn't noticed anything strange. "Hold still, now."

This time, Bilbo was prepared for the pain, and clenched his jaw as she cleaned his wound. It did help that he was a bit preoccupied.

What had happened back on Ravenhill had been _real_. Somehow, he had really turned back time, and it seemed he could do it more than once.

He had never heard of such a thing, not in legends nor stories. When he saw Gandalf again, he'd have to ask him about this.

But if this new ability had allowed him to save Thorin, then perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing at all.

**Will I ever stop posting new stories? Maybe...**

**Leave a comment if you enjoyed this chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Bilbo resisted the urge to scratch at his bandage as he walked to the infirmary. The wound on his face had grown a bit less painful in the days since the battle, but it had begun to itch terribly at times. He'd finally gotten fed up and decided to ask Óin if there was anything to be done for it.

He glanced at a pair of unfamiliar dwarves as they passed by in the large corridor. He was still getting used to seeing dwarves in Erebor that weren't part of the Company. Dáin's army had settled rather quickly into the mountain and had been invaluable when it came to reconstruction, but they often acted as if Bilbo wasn't even in the room. He still wasn't sure what to make of that, but he was quite content to stick to his own friends.

On that note, he was rather relieved to find that it was only Óin and Kíli in the room that had repurposed as an infirmary. Several mismatched beds lined the walls, and most of the medicine and other supplies had been piled on a table to the side. Although there were actual infirmaries somewhere else in Erebor, everyone was confined to one section of the mountain until they fully repaired the heating and lighting systems (Bilbo had yet to really understand how those even worked).

Kíli perked up as he walked into the room and looked as if he wanted to stand, but he remained where he was with a warning glance from Óin. "Bilbo! Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course. Just wanted to get this," he gestured to his bandage, "checked out."

Óin paused in wringing out a wet cloth. "Any pain, swelling?"

"No, but it itches something terrible." Bilbo sat down on one of the empty beds and placed his hands at his sides as Óin walked over and began unwrapping the bandage.

He inspected it for a moment, then grunted in approval. "It's healing nicely."

"Better than I am, at any rate," Kíli grumbled, glaring at his knee, which was wrapped in a bandage and propped up on a pillow.

"Oh, it's only a fracture," Óin said over his shoulder. "And you're lucky that's all you got." He turned back to Bilbo. "I'll change your bandage and give you something for the itching, if I can find it."

Kíli crossed his arms. "I would have taken a war hammer to both knees if it meant I'd gotten to kill that damned orc."

Bilbo frowned. "What orc?"

"Bolg, son of Azog," Kíli spat. "I meant to kill him, but the rat must have slipped away after the battle."

"We don't know that for sure," Óin said, unrolling a clean bandage. "Mahal willing, he slipped right over that frozen waterfall and cracked his rotten head on the rocks below."

Bilbo shuddered slightly. He still dreamed every night about that awful moment on the ice, watching Thorin die…and then reversing time and bringing him back.

As soon as he'd had a moment alone, he'd set about testing his abilities, dropping things and watching them rise again, until he'd been able to convince himself that it was not a dream or hallucination. But he hadn't told any of the Company about it. Most of them were rather busy, and it didn't seem like the proper time.

"I don't know if I believe that," Kíli said, bringing his attention back to the present. "And I won't rest until I know that bastard is dead."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to rest anyway." Balin walked into the room with a sheaf of papers under one arm, followed by Nori. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

Kíli's eyes widened. "For Uncle's coronation."

"And yours." Balin stopped in the middle of the room and turned to Óin. "What do you think? Cane or wheelchair?"

Kíli groaned and put a hand to his face. "Please don't make me be crowned Prince in a wheelchair."

"Perhaps you should be glad you still have both legs," Óin said.

"And that Dís isn't here yet," Balin added, and Kíli fell silent.

Óin finished replacing Bilbo's bandage and turned to Nori. "And what are you after?"

"Just more tonic for Ori."

"Still having headaches, is he?" Óin walked over to the table, grabbed the appropriate bottle, and tossed it to Nori. Bilbo resisted the urge to wince. He wasn't sure what dwarvish habit made him more nervous—the head knocking, or their tendency to toss around fragile things as if they were children's toys. "You keep an eye on him, eh?"

"As if Dori isn't watching him every second of the bleedin' day." Nori shrugged and pocketed the bottle. As Balin called Óin over to discuss one of the papers he was holding, Nori sidled up to Bilbo. "Trying on a new look?" He grinned. "What was it Beorn used to call you? Little bunny?"

"What are you on about?" Bilbo reached up to feel his bandage, then sighed. Because the wound was on his cheek, the bandage covering it had to be secured in place by another that went under his chin and over the crown of his head—and apparently Óin had tied it off with a rather exaggerated bow. "Well, I suppose I'm going to be fixing that when I get back home."

Nori chuckled and sat on the bed beside him. "Are you planning on sticking around for the coronation?"

"Yes, of course," Bilbo smiled awkwardly. "I only meant the place where I was staying, when I said home." And it was strange, how easily the word had slipped out. His quarters were rather barren, really only a place to sleep until Erebor's situation improved. But there was a certain comfort in waking up every morning and knowing he could see his friends, and that they were all safe at last. "Gandalf said it would be better to wait until the spring before we head back to the Shire."

"I see." Nori scratched at his beard. "Where has the old fellow run off to, anyway?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. Hopefully he'll be back by spring." Bilbo frowned. He'd learned well enough during the quest that the wizard had a habit of showing up well after he said he would. Though in that case, he wouldn't terribly mind spending a little more time in Erebor.

"Well, I'd better get this to Ori." Nori hopped off the bed and patted Bilbo on the shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

Bilbo smiled and bid him farewell. He was looking forward to the coronation, and to seeing Thorin again—even if it was only from a distance. It seemed the moment the battle had ended, there had been (quite literally) a mountain of work to do. Bilbo had hardly managed to catch a glimpse of the dwarf in the past few days, though he was glad Thorin was getting the opportunity to begin restoring Erebor. _That _was what they had all set out to do in the first place, anyway.

Balin had finished his discussion with Óin and was leaving the room. As he passed, a sudden thought struck Bilbo, and he slipped off the bed. He gave a quick thanks to Óin and hurried to catch up with the other dwarf.

"Balin? Could I have a word with you?" It had occurred to him that Balin seemed to know a great many things, especially when it came to lore and history and the like. Perhaps he would be able to help explain Bilbo's new…situation.

Balin spared him a quick glance as he caught up, though he seemed more concerned with rifling though the papers in his hands. "I'm afraid I'm quite busy today, lad. I've got to get these documents to Lord Dáin as quickly as possible. Is it important?"

"Oh. Well, no. We can discuss it later."

"All right. I'll see you at the coronation tomorrow." Balin clapped him on the shoulder.

Bilbo let him continue on his errand, and decided to see if he could find something to eat. A small, ironic smile grew on his face as he walked. It was almost funny that while he had an abundance of time now, the same could not be said for his friends.

* * *

They'd made a different crown for the coronation.

It was not the Raven Crown, with its dark metal and curving shape. This one was more angular, a lattice of gold inset with seven white jewels that gleamed in the torchlight. Bilbo couldn't say he was unhappy with the change—the old crown brought back unpleasant memories, and he was sure Thorin felt the same.

In any case, it seemed to fit perfectly as Dáin set it upon Thorin's brow. There was no denying that Thorin was meant to wear it as he stood and turned to face the crowd. He looked the very image of a king, solemn and noble as the torches burned bright around him.

The hall, crowded with dwarves as well as men and elves, was completely silent as Balin stepped forward, holding an aged scroll filled with runes. He read something out in Khuzdul and Thorin responded in kind, his deep voice resonating throughout the hall.

As they went back and forth a few times, Bilbo guessed these were some sort of kingly vows. His knowledge of Khuzdul was practically nonexistent (what he did know was mostly curses that Nori and Bifur would fling at each other from across camp). But he could hear the sincerity in Thorin's voice, could feel every ounce of promise beneath the weight of the years spent dreaming of this moment. He could not help the smile that lifted his lips, and he joined in enthusiastically when the ceremony ended and the dwarves broke out into cheers.

Blue eyes shining, Thorin stepped forward to meet the crowd. The uproar died down just as quickly as it had come.

"When I set out on the quest to reclaim Erebor, there were many who doubted me and my purpose." Thorin's eyes swept the room, pinning the crowd with his gaze. A few of the dwarves shifted. "There were others who doubted us as well, and those who tried to stop us."

Bilbo pursed his lips. That didn't seem like the most welcoming way to start out a speech. He glanced at Thranduil, who was watching Thorin with his usual cool impassiveness.

"But it mattered not," Thorin continued, and Bilbo turned to face him again. "By the courage of my Company, we succeeded in taking back the mountain, and by the courage of Men, these lands have been freed from the dragon Smaug. The dragon is dead, the orcs defeated, and by the blood of our kin we have entered a new era. As King of Erebor, I swear to uphold my vows and bring prosperity to all that live in and around the Lonely Mountain."

Smiling slightly, Bilbo craned his neck to look at Bard, who was dressed in a fine blue tunic that was slightly ill-fitting around the shoulders. Although the former people of Lake-town had decided to crown him King of Dale, he had postponed his own coronation until the city was mostly rebuilt.

"I made the promise once that all would share in the wealth of this mountain," Thorin said, addressing the men and women in the crowd. "And I ask of you another chance to keep my word." His gaze moved over the crowd, eventually settling on Bilbo. The fleeting moment of eye contact sent a jolt of something not at all unpleasant down his spine. "I would pledge to Dale and its people all the gold necessary to rebuild your city, and whatever supplies we can provide for the coming winter. Let us restore the great friendship that Erebor and Dale once shared."

The men and women let out a cheer at this, and Bard gave a small bow. Most of the dwarves remained silent, however, and the elves stood placidly as ever.

"Furthermore," Thorin continued once the hall had quieted once more, "I would offer this to the elves of Mirkwood." He paused for a moment, hesitance marring his brow, before continuing. "I will return the gems of Lasgalen, as a token of peace."

A quiet but noticeable wave of discontent swept through the dwarves. Bilbo's head whipped around as he turned to the group of elves. None of them cheered (and he would have wondered if they were capable of such a thing had he not heard the festivities the night of their escape from the Mirkwood dungeons). Thranduil stared at Thorin for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then inclined his head slightly.

Bilbo had a feeling that was the friendliest the two would ever get. Still, his heart swelled with pride as Thorin continued his speech. It was a testament to how much he had changed, and that Thorin had truly chosen his honor over the treasure he had once been obsessed with. There was no question (at least not in Bilbo's mind) that Thorin was utterly suited for kingship.

He spared another glance around the room, and his stomach dropped as he noticed a dwarf with shaggy blond hair standing off to the side. A dark glare had overtaken his angular face. As he searched the room, he found a handful of dwarves wearing similar expressions.

Unease grew taut in his chest. He shifted his weight, looking around again—this time for one of his friends. He suddenly felt that he did not want to be surrounded by dwarves he did not know. After a moment of searching, he found Bifur's shaggy mane near the front of the crowd and slipped through the crowd to join him.

He wasn't quite sure why, but he suddenly wished he had Sting with him.

* * *

Bilbo took another bite of the roast and closed his eyes in appreciation. "I think this might be the best thing I've ever tasted."

Across the table, Bombur hummed in agreement. "I really can't tell if they've seasoned this well, or if I'm just hungry."

"Perhaps a little of both." Bilbo smiled. "Goodness, when was the last time we had a hot meal?"

"Aye, this is a day to remember." Bofur raised his mostly-empty tankard of ale and launched into another off-key Khuzdul song. He leaned over, quickly losing his balance and nearly falling into Bilbo's lap, and he shoved at his shoulder to push him upright.

After the coronation ceremony, everyone had moved to a different hall with the largest fireplace Bilbo had ever seen on one end. He was sure even without the blazing fire he would have been sweating, crowded as the room was. But then they'd brought out roasted meat and fresh bread and ale, and he'd forgotten all about his discomfort.

Bombur shook his head, clearly trying not to laugh as Bofur made several attempts to push his hat out of his eyes. "He's always been like this. Can't hold his liquor, even if we're off to fight a dragon the next day."

"I'm holding it right now, aren't I?" Bofur slurred, holding up his tankard again.

Bilbo laughed and patted him on the shoulder, then stood up. "I think you need a drink of water."

"I'll make sure he doesn't hit his head on anything," Bombur said as he left.

Chuckling to himself, Bilbo began navigating through the crowd towards where all the food and drink was kept. It was quite loud in the hall, a mixture of dozens of conversations and songs bursting forth. He suspected it had something to do with the echoing ceiling above. It was quite different from Shire parties, which were usually held outside when the weather allowed.

He paused at the row of long tables at one end of the room. Most of the platters of food had been cleared out, only a few crumbs and small puddles of grease betraying that there had been anything there at all. Bilbo spotted a few dwarves watch forlornly as only a dribble of foam came out of one of the kegs, and guessed the drink had gone the same way. But he didn't see so much as a jug of water.

A movement in his periphery caught his eye, and Bilbo turned to see two dwarves standing just behind him. One of them had shaved either side of his head, and the other had more piercings than Bilbo could count on his right ear.

He straightened. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I hope I'm not in your way."

They both glowered at him for a long moment, then turned and walked away.

Bilbo watched them go, feeling the same uneasiness he'd experienced at the coronation ceremony. That had been rather rude. At least Lobelia Sackville-Baggins would have put up the pretense of being polite.

Shaking off his discomfort, Bilbo decided to look elsewhere for some water. As he walked, he found himself searching the crowd for Thorin. He'd caught a glimpse of him earlier, but he'd been surrounded by other dwarves, and it clearly hadn't been the right time to approach.

He frowned to himself. After everything with the dragon sickness and the battle, he had hoped he would be able to resume his friendship with Thorin. But it seemed rather unlikely that a king would have time for something like that.

"Bilbo!" Fíli materialized from the crowd and slung an arm around his shoulders. "There you are!"

"Here I am." Bilbo smiled up at him. After Thorin's speech, Fíli and Kíli's coronation had been rather uneventful, though Kíli had decided to forgo any sort of support for his leg. He had borne the pain in the typical stoic dwarvish fashion, although Óin had practically dragged him off the dais after it was over. "I suppose a congratulations is in order."

"I'll accept it, as long as you refrain from calling me 'your highness.'"

"I'll keep that in mind." Bilbo took a step back as Fíli released him. "Well? How does it feel, being a prince?"

Fíli shrugged. "Not much different from being someone else. I suppose I'll feel differently once I have to start _being_ one, though."

Bilbo smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure you must be looking forward to the paperwork."

Fíli shuddered. "I don't even want to think about it. After what I've seen Thorin do in just a few days…" He glanced to the side. "By the way, my uncle might be too busy to say it, but you should know that you're welcome to stay here."

"Oh. Well, thank you. At least until spring—"

"But if you wanted to stay longer…" There was no playfulness in Fíli's gaze now—only a solemn earnestness. "You would be welcome here."

He wasn't sure if some of the other dwarves in the hall agreed with that statement. But hearing it from Fíli (and by extension, Thorin) still warmed his heart. "Thank you. Do you know if Thorin—"

"Ah, lad, look at you!" A dwarf with a ruddy nose pushed through the crowd and knocked his forehead against Fíli's. "Just a wee pebble when last I saw you, and now you've grown into a fine prince!"

Fíli smiled. "Lord Náli."

Bilbo gave a brief farewell to Fíli and quickly excused himself. He was not in the mood to meet any more new people tonight. The thought of going back to his quarters and crawling into bed was looking more appealing by the minute.

He passed by a pair of dwarves who were either having a loud conversation or an argument (with Khuzdul it was sometimes hard to tell). One of them waved his tankard for emphasis, and a bit of ale splashed on the back of Bilbo's neck. He winced and reached back to wipe it away before it could stain his collar, then paused.

He held out a hand and focused, and the tingling sensation returned to his fingertips. Everyone in the hall froze, the noise dying down immediately. The dwarf in front of him took a step back, and Bilbo felt the ale seep out of his collar, off his neck, and back into its original container. He stepped out of range, then released his hold.

Immediately, the room was filled once more with noise and motion. Bilbo looked around to see if anyone had noticed that he'd moved a few inches from where he'd originally been, but it didn't seem that anyone was paying attention. The dwarf waved his tankard again, and ale splattered on the floor.

Satisfied, Bilbo straightened his tunic and began maneuvering towards the door. A blast of cool air greeted him as he exited, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He spotted a white-haired dwarf a little ways down the corridor, and hurried to catch up with him.

"Balin." He waved as the dwarf stopped and waited for him. "Are you turning in for the night?"

"I am. It's been a very long day." Balin gave him a weary smile. "Why don't you walk with me?"

They set off down the corridor. Bilbo put his hands in his pockets and gazed at the ceiling, so high it was obscured by shadow. "It's strange."

"What is?"

"Well, the quest is over. We've reached the end. But somehow, it feels like only the beginning."

Balin chuckled. "Aye. We have a saying for it. 'Always deeper to delve,' it would be in Westron." He glanced at Bilbo. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about yesterday?"

"It was…" He cleared his throat. Now that the moment had come to explain things, he wasn't quite sure how to go about it. "Well…something strange happened during the battle."

Balin frowned, but said nothing.

"And when I say strange," he gave an awkward laugh, "I'm afraid you won't believe me at all. But I swear I'm telling the truth. I-I wouldn't joke about something like this." He looked down and gathered his courage. "When I went up to Ravenhill to warn Thorin and the others about the second army, I was knocked out by an orc. And when I woke up, I found that I could, um, stop time. And turn it back as well."

"What do you mean, laddie?" Balin stopped and turned to face him, a careful hesitance in his voice.

"It's exactly as I said." Bilbo spread his hands. "I-I could make everything stop, if I put in the right focus. And I could make things go backwards, as well."

"Do you mean to say you were having visions?"

"No." Bilbo sighed. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned the part about hitting his head. "I mean, I saw…" A lump grew in his throat as memory over took him. "I-I saw Thorin die. I saw Azog drive a blade through his chest. I was there, it was real. But I was able to stop it, t-to go back and make sure Thorin was able to win that fight." He gestured to his bandage. "That's how I got this."

Balin nodded slowly, his expression grave. "I see."

"I know it sounds strange. The only reason I'm telling you this is because I thought you might know why this happened."

"I'm afraid I've never heard of such a thing before." Balin crossed his arms and gazed down the hallway, though Bilbo knew his thoughts went much farther than that. "But if what you say is true, then you did us all a great service, saving Thorin's life."

Bilbo blinked. "Well, of course. I couldn't have…I couldn't…"

Balin nodded, a small smile on his face. The understanding in his eyes sent a jolt through him, and Bilbo wondered just how much Balin knew about what he felt for Thorin.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much in regards to this new ability of yours. A word of warning, though." Balin's smile faded. "This is not something to be used lightly, Bilbo. We have a phrase in Khuzdul: _agrâru shâlak'aban_. The shift of the smallest pebble can cause a landslide, just as the changes you make now may have drastic consequences in the future. All I ask as that you take care, and consider your actions."

"I will." Bilbo nodded, though he couldn't help the shiver that traced itself down his spine. He hadn't really considered such a thing. But he was certain that Erebor would be worse off if Thorin had perished in that battle. When it came to that, he would make the same choice a thousand times over.

Balin nodded, and they began walking again. "I have faith in you, Bilbo. If there is one person who would use this blessing wisely, it would be you."

"Thank you." He smiled. "And please don't tell the others about this."

Balin winked. "Your secret it safe with me."

It seemed to Bilbo that the only thing his ability was good for was cleaning up spills. But as long as it wasn't blood being spilled, he was quite all right with that.

**I kinda winged it with the coronation ceremony, I don't know much about that kind of thing and if you've seen my tumblr post about king stuff you'll know I didn't care to research it lmfaoo. I feel like religious figures usually do the crowning but since my version of Erebor doesn't have religious officials and it kind of felt weird to have Gandalf do it, I decided to go with Dáin since he has some semblance of authority? idk, if any of you have a better answer for this let me know. For that scene I was really more focused on having Bilbo being the Number One Thorin Stan (and maybe I'm projecting a little bit, I know I know)**

**The last time I wrote a coronation scene I copped out by saying the whole thing was in Khuzdul (I'm a lazy mf what can I say) but I wanted to give it another go here and try to show just how much Thorin has changed and become a better person. I think he would have made a really great leader if he, yanno, actually survived in canon.**

**Anyway, this was a little bit more of a light-hearted chapter, but this was mainly to set up some of the stuff later on. I'm still trying to figure out the pacing of all the plot points, but I don't think this is going to turn into a 150k beast like The New World (but don't quote me on that).**

**Credit to the Dwarrow Scholar for the Khuzdul phrase for "The Pebble Effect," which directly translates to "consequence of the pebble" (It was the best I could find with my chronic laziness).**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Humming quietly to himself, Bilbo filled the kettle with water and began heating it up. He didn't think he'd ever been so excited to have a cup of tea, but these were quite extraordinary circumstances.

Everyone under the mountain had been living on rations, since food was rather scarce and most of what they did have was from the Iron Hills. Somehow Dori had gotten his hands on some tea leaves and surreptitiously given some to Bilbo. His covert manner had been so reminiscent of Nori that Bilbo had been forced to stifle his laughter.

He paused in his work as three heavy knocks sounded from the front door. He stopped and debated a moment—he wasn't entirely inclined to share his limited supply of tea with someone else. Eventually, his Baggins side won over, and he went to open the door. Even if he was in a dwarvish kingdom beneath a mountain halfway across the world, he still had an obligation to be a good host.

"Thorin." He blinked at the dwarf standing on the doorstep, then remembered himself. "Uh, come in. I've just put the kettle on. Would you like some tea?"

"I would." With a small smile, Thorin stepped over the threshold.

"Please, have a seat." Bilbo went to put out another cup, and restrained himself from apologizing for the state of his kitchen, from the missing dining chair to the patches of dust that somehow kept popping up. The whole house was rather barren, as much of the furniture had decayed in the years since Smaug had first attacked. It was a far cry from the rather cluttered appearance of his rooms in Bag End.

He put both cups on the dining table, then brought the kettle and filled them with hot water. "So, Thorin, what brings you here?" Bilbo asked, setting the kettle down on a folded cloth. "I'm sure you must be quite busy."

"I am," Thorin said, leaning back in his chair. "But I wanted to see you how were faring. I know this situation must be…new to you."

Bilbo hummed in agreement and sat down. "Well, it's certainly a step up from camping in the woods on a rainy night." Thorin smiled at that, and something in his chest warmed. "I'm doing perfectly all right here. Of course, ideally I would like four dining chairs instead of just three, but I know everyone here is making do with what they have."

"Things will change." Thorin rested his forearms on the table, his expression growing serious. "I reclaimed this mountain with the intention of seeing it prosper once more. Come next autumn, when the caravans from the Blue Mountains begin to arrive, we will have artisans, miners, merchants. Soon the people of Erebor will not want for anything."

Bilbo smiled, slightly bemused by his change in tone. "Of course. I know these things take time."

Thorin lowered his gaze. "Forgive me. I've spent the past few days brokering deals for resources, debating with diplomats… I forgot myself for a moment."

"Well, you don't need to worry about convincing me of anything." He thought back to how busy Balin had been before the coronation, and wondered if Thorin had enough people on his side, so to speak. "I'm sure Erebor will look entirely different in a year's time."

Though he doubted he would be around to see it by then. Bilbo looked away, and caught his reflection in the rounded surface of the tea kettle. Almost absently, he touched the scar on his cheek. His neighbors in Hobbiton would have quite a few things to say about _that_.

"Your first battle scar," Thorin said, a hint of pride in his voice.

"I don't know." Bilbo lowered his hand. "It looks rather off-putting."

"It's a sign of your bravery." There was a gentle rebuke in Thorin's voice. "With an interesting story behind it."

_A very interesting story indeed_, Bilbo agreed silently with a wry smile. At any rate, there was no getting rid of it, so he supposed he'd have to live with it. "Anyway, how have you been faring? I know you've been quite busy these past few days."

"Indeed." Thorin sighed, and Bilbo wondered if he should have left discussions of work out of the conversation. "Things would be moving faster if we had more dwarves, but we're spread rather thin right now. And Dwalin took several of the uninjured dwarves this morning."

"Why?"

"To hunt down the orcs that escaped the battle. Kíli claims Bolg fled and was not seen again. Winter is upon us, and we will have to depend on trade to survive it. The last thing we need is a pack of orcs loose in the wild."

Bilbo nodded. "That makes sense." He imagined it was quite stressful, having to consider everything that could impact so many people's survival. "Well, you should know that I am more than willing to lend a hand. I don't know much about running a kingdom, but I do have experience organizing…things." Namely dinner parties, but that still involved making sure everyone was fed and happy, so it couldn't be too far off.

"I appreciate the offer, Bilbo," Thorin said, his gaze softening. "My only concern is that the language difference would prove to be an issue. Not many of Dáin's dwarves can speak Westron."

"Oh. I see." Bilbo wondered if the two dwarves he'd run into at the feast had simply not understood what he was saying. Perhaps that was why they had treated him so brusquely—it was a better thought than the alternative. "Well, my offer still stands, if you can find some use out of me."

The corner of his lips quirked upward, and Bilbo found himself momentarily transfixed by the small movement. "Perhaps I will think of something." He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his tea. "Much of the necessary work is construction, though. Tomorrow we will be going into the lower levels to repair the machinery above the river."

"The river?"

"Aye. Most of Erebor's water comes from an underground river, and we use the current to power some of the larger machinery."

"Really?" Bilbo let out a small laugh. "Well, I haven't the slightest idea how that all works, but it sounds quite impressive." He thought it must be a similar idea to the water wheel back in Hobbiton, but much more elaborate.

"You're welcome to come take a look tomorrow. I'm no engineer, but I could explain some of it."

"I'd like that very much." It hadn't really occurred to him that there was a whole kingdom to explore, and that Erebor had many wonders besides its hall full of treasure (and he had very little desire to go back there).

"I should go. I still have a couple more meetings today." Thorin pushed back his chair and stood up. "Thank you for the tea."

"Of course." Bilbo stood and followed him to the door. "A-And thank you for coming by. I know your time is very valuable."

Thorin paused by the door and looked at Bilbo for a long moment. His gaze was unreadable, but it left a flutter in his stomach. "I'll always have a moment to spare for you, Bilbo."

Feeling rather flustered, Bilbo bid him farewell. A warmth had settled in his chest that had nothing to do with the tea, which he had all but forgotten to drink.

* * *

Bilbo was walking down on of Erebor's enormous corridors when he spotted Bombur. He waved to the dwarf, who waited for him to catch up.

"And where are you off to, today?" he asked with a smile.

"One of the construction sites. I'm meant to help out as well, but," he held up the basket in one hand, "I'm also bringing lunch to Bifur and Bofur."

"Oh. Anything special?"

"Let's see…" Bombur lifted the lid so Bilbo could peer inside. "I really went out of my way today. We've got some cram, dried goat meat, more cram, and a flask of…well, I should really call it water with a hint of beer."

Bilbo laughed. "I'm sure they'll be grateful anyway."

"And what about you? Where are you headed?"

"The same place, actually. I'm not sure I would be much help, but I wanted to look around. And I suppose it's fortunate I ran into you, since I haven't the slightest idea how to get there."

"It's a bit far, but all downstairs." Bombur motioned for him to follow. "The hard part is walking back up, in my opinion."

Bilbo grimaced, remembering how his legs had ached during their hike up to the High Pass in the Misty Mountains. It was strange how that seemed ages ago, though it had only been a few months. "I suppose there must be a lot of that, living under a mountain. Walking up and down stairs."

"Oh, aye. We have a few elevators to move carts and miners and the like, but I doubt any of those are working at the moment. The gears have probably rusted completely."

"Elevators?"

Bombur nodded. "It's how we move heavy things that can't be taken up stairs."

"I would certainly like to see one, since I don't think we have any in the Shire." He smiled wryly. "We don't even have many stairs, since there's really no use for them."

"Well, you're in for a treat, Bilbo." Bombur clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm sure there's dozens of other things in Erebor that would surprise you. You're a lucky hobbit, being able to see all this."

That was true enough, and Bilbo counted himself fortunate even as his smile wavered slightly. He still wasn't sure if he was wholly welcome to all of these magnificent secrets.

He forgot his melancholy, however, once they reached the river. The air grew cool and humid as they descended, and was filled with the echo of rushing water. As they reached the bottom of the final staircase and walked through a wide archway into another cavern, Bilbo couldn't help but stop and gape.

The river, shining beneath the light of the torches, was framed by two carved ledges on either side. A makeshift wooden bridge stretched between the stone banks. Standing in the center of the cavern was a large water wheel, connected to several pipes and rods and other things he didn't quite have a name for. The ceiling of the cavern was covered in strange, sharp formations of rock which hung down like a collection of dragon fangs. Some of the rocks had been cut out to allow for a series of platforms around the top of the water wheel as well as another bit of machinery that extended into the ceiling and out of sight.

"Bilbo?" Bombur waved a hand in front of his face, and he blinked. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. This is all just…rather fascinating, I suppose."

Bombur grinned. "If our water wheel gets you staring like that, I'd be careful about seeing the rest of the mountain. Don't want you to faint again."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and followed him over to where Bifur and Bofur were working on a set of wood beams.

Bofur saw them first, and straightened when he laid eyes on the basket. "Oh, thank Mahal. I'm dying of thirst over here."

Bifur muttered something in Khuzdul and gestured towards the river, but he followed his cousin to meet them.

Bombur handed the basket over and turned to Bilbo. "You're welcome to help yourself, too."

"That's all right, thank you. I already ate." Bilbo scanned the rest of the room. He didn't recognize most of the other dwarves in the cavern, though he did spot Thorin on the other side, speaking with a handful of dwarves.

Bofur pulled out the dried meat and sniffed it. "Ah, this is just like home." He and Bifur went to sit on the pile of wood to eat their lunch, and Bilbo and Bombur followed.

"What are you working on here?" Bilbo asked.

"Just salvaging what we can to repair the wheel," Bofur replied. "It'll be a while before we can get any fresh timber, and longer still before we have enough iron to make some steel."

"At least the forges are lit," Bombur said.

"Aye. I suppose old Smaug did us a favor in the end."

The wheel gave a sharp groan, and Bilbo winced at the noise. Now that he was a little closer, he could see patches of rust and other grime coating the machine. "Are you sure that's safe?"

"It's just old," Bofur said. "If it's stood for this long, I see no reason why it would break down today." He made another attempt to tear off a piece of jerky with his teeth and sighed. "By my beard, I swear the first thing I'm going to do come spring is order some roast duck from the finest tavern in Erebor."

Bombur groaned. "Not the roast duck again."

Bofur leaned back and put a hand on his stomach. "If I wanted, I could have roast duck every day for the rest of my life. I have the coin for it now."

Bifur stopped knocking his cram against one of the wood beams and asked something in Khuzdul.

"Well, no, but I assume it tastes good."

Bilbo smiled. "I suppose you'll just have to find out come spring."

Bofur spread his hands. "Thank you, Bilbo. And what are you going to do with your share of the treasure?"

"Oh." He hadn't so much as thought about the gold since the last time he'd been in that dreadful room. "I don't know. I'm fairly sure I gave my share away, after the Arkenstone…"

Bofur waved him off. "You know Thorin doesn't hold that against you. You'll get your gold, same as the rest of us."

"I suppose." Bilbo looked over at Thorin, who was still speaking to the other dwarves. Their eyes met briefly, and he felt a small jolt in his belly. He turned back to the others. "Well, I doubt I could take it all back to the Shire, so I suppose I will end up giving most of it away anyway."

The dwarves fell silent at that, and Bilbo wondered if he'd said something wrong.

A shriek cut through the air, making them all turn. Across the river, one of the metal rods had broken loose. The structures near the ceiling began to wobble. Thorin and the other dwarves looked up, but there was no time to do anything else. With another terrible screech, the whole structure collapsed, and several heavy pieces of metal crashed onto the group.

Bifur swore loudly and ran across the bridge, his cousins on his heels. Bilbo staggered and let out a choked gasp. He could see nothing of the group that had been caught beneath the falling metal. He'd only caught a glimpse of Thorin's shocked expression before…

The remaining dwarves were tearing at the pile of rubble, calling out in Khuzdul and receiving no response. As Bilbo took a few halting steps forward, his nose caught the stinging scent of blood.

_No_.

His breath came in stuttering gasps as he backed away. He couldn't—He couldn't lose—

The realization came to him, nearly dizzying in its suddenness. He didn't have to see this. It didn't have to be real.

He held out a hand and focused. The dwarves paused in their work, then began to put pieces of rubble back. They stepped backwards, away from the rubble, which then rose to its original place. After a few minutes, a sharp pain built in his temple, something that appeared every time he overextended his abilities. He released his hold with a wince.

"…I suppose old Smaug did us a favor in the end," Bofur was saying. "Oi, Bilbo, are you all right? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Bilbo forced a smile. "I'm fine. If you'll excuse me…" He set off across the bridge. He couldn't find it in himself to worry about manners when his friend was in danger. He reached the group of dwarves and slipped between two of them so he could reach Thorin.

Thorin's eyebrows lifted at his sudden appearance. "Bilbo. Is everything all right?"

He sucked in a nervous breath and glanced up at the machinery just above their heads. He hadn't thought at all about how he was going to get all of them to move, only that he needed to do it as soon as possible.

Well, there was no harm in being direct.

,"Are you sure you all should be standing here? If this thing were to collapse—"

One of the dwarves behind him snorted, and said something in Khuzdul that did not sound friendly at all.

Thorin shot a look at the dwarf before turning back to Bilbo. "There's no need for concern. These structures are old, but they've held up for hundreds of years. It would take—"

A metallic screech cut him off, and Bilbo held up a hand. The dwarves froze, and the broken rod returned to its place. Bilbo backed out of the group, taking deep breaths to quell his frustration. _Dratted, stubborn dwarves_.

He would not be able to convince the dwarves of anything without revealing his ability, and he wasn't sure any of them would believe it anyway. He had to find a way to distract them, to get them to move quickly to another part of the cavern.

His gaze fell to the river, and the current gently rolling backwards.

Bilbo lowered his hand and walked upstream. Though he couldn't tell how deep the river was, the surface was only a couple of feet below the ledge where he stood, and the current didn't seem to be moving terribly quickly. He stepped closer to the edge and took a deep breath. He had all the time in the world, but he saw no reason to hesitate on this—and he didn't really have a better idea besides.

He spared a moment to make sure no one was looking, took a deep breath, and stepped into the river.

The cold water swallowed him up, making his whole body tense. Bilbo instinctively let out the breath he'd been holding, and watched it billow to the surface. He lifted his chin as he bobbed upwards, and had only time to shout, "_Help!_" before the current pulled him back under.

He was reminded, faintly, of the river that had carried them away from the Woodland Realm. This one was just as unpleasantly cold, if not more so, and pulled him along at a frightening pace. The current had been deceptively slow from above, and his flailing limbs did nothing to slow his movement.

Almost against his will, Bilbo tried to draw in air, and water gushed down his throat. His fingers were growing numb, his limbs painfully slow as he tried to fight his way to the surface. The hulking shape of the wheel passed on his left, and Bilbo began to worry that he should have jumped in further upstream. If no one managed to pull him out, he would be swept down into the depths of the mountain…

His chest was starting to ache. Bilbo raised one hand and tried to focus, but his brain was growing foggy, the rushing of the water filling his ears and his nose and his mouth—

Someone seized the back of his coat and dragged him up and out of the water. Bilbo collapsed onto the chill stone and tried to inhale, but there was something in the way.

Someone thumped him hard on the back, and water spilled from his mouth. He coughed and retched until he could finally breathe in, and he gasped at the blessed sensation of air in his chest.

"There you go, lad." Bofur patted him on the back, much more gently this time, and helped him sit up.

"Bilbo!" Thorin knelt down on his other side and grasped both of his shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Bilbo said, taking in another heaving breath. He realized with a rush of relief that if Thorin was here, then he had not been crushed beneath the rubble. He turned towards the mangled mess and began to shiver. "What—Was anyone hurt?"

"No." Thorin sat back on his heels. "No one was underneath the structure when it fell."

"I think we were more concerned about you." Bofur's lower half was dripping wet, Bilbo realized. He must have been the one to pull him out of the water. "We nearly missed you, there. Gave us quite a scare."

"I-I must have slipped." He rubbed his wet hands together to try and get some feeling back into them. His clothes were soaked, clinging to his skin and making the chill bite deeper.

Thorin stood up, and a moment later, Bilbo felt something warm and heavy drop onto his shoulders. He lifted one hand, and his fingers sank into the dark fur of Thorin's coat. He looked up, heat flushing beneath his damp skin, but Thorin was busy conversing with a pair of dwarves.

Bofur rested his arm on his knee and turned to look at the ruined structure. "We'll probably have to rebuild the whole thing from scratch, now."

Thorin seemed to have come to the same conclusion as he marched back across the bridge, a scowl marring his face. Bilbo couldn't help but think that he would much rather have him alive and frustrated than buried beneath a pile of broken metal.

"Well, I'd better go get dried off." Bilbo made to stand up, and Bofur helped him to his feet.

"You remember the way back?" Bombur asked.

"Yes." He pulled the coat tighter around his shoulders. It was a little too long for him, but it was warm (and it was Thorin's) and he was rather reluctant to give it back. "I don't think I'll have any trouble. And the rest of you…" He cast a glance at his friends. "Please be careful."

"Don't need to tell me twice." Bofur adjusted his hat and went back to work, the other two trailing after him.

Bilbo cast a worried glance in Thorin's direction, then made for the stairs.

**So looking over my outline, i think this is going to be a shorter one, probably less than 20 chapters. But I have a lot in store for you guys, so I hope you'll enjoy!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Bilbo closed his eyes as a warm breeze passed over his face. Technically, it was still winter, but today was relatively warm, and he was taking a moment to enjoy it from the entrance to the mountain.

The gate, which had been rebuilt after Smaug's death and subsequently destroyed during the battle, was currently still under construction. There were other, more vital things that required the dwarves' attention, though all of it had moved surprisingly fast. The collapsing of the water wheel had been an inconvenient setback, but the whole thing had been redone in a matter of weeks. Bilbo was fascinated with the way the dwarves threw themselves into work with industriousness and energy, using curious contraptions to help with their work and moving with efficiency. It was somewhat similar to the way hobbits worked together, though there were usually several more meal breaks involved.

He raised his gaze to the western horizon, though he could see no further than the low, dark line that was Mirkwood. He wondered, not for the first time, what was happening in the Shire. No doubt they were preparing to plant the first seeds of spring. He'd missed Yule, as well as a number of other holidays since he'd left.

Bilbo sighed. He might have faced down another dragon if it meant he could get a steaming mince pie, and perhaps a fruit tart and some cream to go with it. He wouldn't have minded a full pipe as well, and someone to sit and smoke with.

His immediate thought was of the dwarves—the image of them crowded around his dining room table, hurling food and cheers, was a fond memory now.

But as he sat there, staring out at the desolate plains still scarred from the battle, his thoughts drifted back to his former neighbors. He wondered if anyone had missed him, or if perhaps they thought he was dead or gone forever. No doubt his reappearance would cause quite a stir among the whole of Hobbiton.

It would likely be more than a year since he'd left by the time he'd gotten back. There would be quite a bit of dusting to do, not to mention a heap of grocery shopping to restore his pantry to its former state.

Bilbo frowned and looked down at his hands. The thought filled him with more dread than anything, and he wasn't sure why. During the quest he'd thought about his chores with longing, wishing for anything that resembled his formerly mundane life.

"Oi!"

He turned around. Óin was standing in the entrance hall, his medicine bag slung over one shoulder. He waved his ear trumpet in greeting.

Bilbo stood up and climbed down from the unfinished skeleton of the gate. "Good morning, Óin. Heading out?"

"Aye, I'm off to Dale for some things." He patted his bag.

"Would you like some company?" Bilbo asked. "I think I'd like some fresh air."

Óin raised an eyebrow at that. "There's air inside the mountain." But he motioned for Bilbo to follow nonetheless.

Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief as they walked out into the open air. He did miss the sun and the sound of the birds and the smell of fresh grass—all things dwarves did not seem to need or want, so he'd neglected to mention it to any of them. But he was thinking of spending more time in Dale once the weather improved.

"What are you after, anyway? Medicine?"

"Herbs, mostly," Óin replied. "The elves have the majority of what I need, but they're not fond of coming into the mountain." He patted the purse on his belt. "And it never hurts to bring a little coin into Dale."

Óin was right—the elves had all but disappeared after the coronation, taking their jewels and their dead and retreating back into the forest. Bilbo supposed even though Thorin had given them their gems, there would never be any real friendship between elves and dwarves.

"What's Dale got to do with it?" Bilbo asked.

"Glóin says that's the best thing we can do for the men right now—buy things from them. A little gold can go a long way."

Bilbo looked up towards the city. The walls were still cracked, the roofs darkened by grime and weariness. He hadn't put much thought into how the people of Dale were faring, though they had been exposed to the elements all winter. Thinking about their weathered faces put something heavy in his chest.

"I suppose I didn't consider how much work it would take to get everything sorted out."

Óin raised his ear trumpet. "How do you mean?"

"Well, during the quest I suppose I was just thinking about the dragon and actually getting the kingdom _back_. But there's much more to it than…getting rid of previous occupants."

"Aye. Though I suppose it's easier than carving out the kingdom in the first place."

That didn't seem like a very encouraging thought, and Bilbo wasn't very reassured by what he found inside the city. The streets were quiet, though there were a good number of people moving about—repairing doors, carrying baskets of clothes, hefting wagons of lumber. There was a pall of exhaustion in the air, no doubt hung there by a hard winter.

Bilbo glanced down an alley, where a group of men were smoking and playing cards, and paused. "Is that Nori?"

The question was borne out of disbelief more than anything—it would be hard for anyone to mistake Nori's distinctive hairstyle. He looked up from his game and went to greet them.

"Fancy a round?" He took a drag of his pipe.

"What are you doing here?" Bilbo asked.

Óin snorted. "Gambling, is it?"

Nori sighed and stretched. "And what else am I to do, with more coin than I'll be able to spend in a lifetime?"

Bilbo crossed his arms. "There's plenty of work to be done."

"Aye, if you're wanting excitement, why didn't you join the hunting party last week?" Óin added.

Bilbo suppressed a shiver. The initial company had found and slain a pack of orcs on the road, but a few weeks ago a caravan from the Iron Hills had been attacked on the road, and several dwarves had been killed. Dwalin had left with more soldiers to hunt them down again.

"You know, I'd much rather have you hefting stone than chasing down orcs," he said.

"Well, thank you for your concern," Nori said, rolling a coin between his fingers. If he noticed the handful of passerby that stared at the gold, he made no indication.

Óin puffed in exasperation. "Well, he's just as likely here to end up with a knife in his back."

"And thank _you_ for your concern, Master Óin." Nori tossed the coin in the air, then stowed it back on his belt. He sauntered away without another word.

Muttering to himself in Khuzdul, Óin continued on, and Bilbo followed him. There was no reason to feel uneasy, but the sun suddenly felt cold and distant, and Bilbo found himself looking over his shoulder more than once.

* * *

"What do you suppose this one is?"

Bilbo leaned over the jar and gave it a tentative sniff. "I haven't the slightest idea."

Bombur shrugged and put the jar of spice back with the rest. "Well, I suppose we'll find out tonight."

"We most certainly will," Bilbo said with a laugh.

A large caravan of dwarves had arrived in Erebor the previous day. They'd come from the Iron Hills, and before that the Orocarni, a mountain range Bilbo had only heard of in a few old tales, and even then it was barely more than a mention. The newcomers seemed…well, dwarf-like enough, content to keep to themselves and with the same gruff humor as their counterparts from elsewhere.

What had really interested Bilbo was everything they had brought along—all sorts of crafts and jewelry and most of all, the food. They'd come with spices and dried meats that he'd never seen before but he was more than eager to try.

They were going to have a feast, both to welcome the newcomers and celebrate the first day of spring. Hopefully it would lift everyone's spirits as well, after such a hard winter.

And, Bilbo thought with a slight, sad smile, it would be a good send-off before he left. Gandalf still had not made an appearance, but as the days got warmer, he was reminded more frequently of his impending journey back to the Shire.

It had been rather easy to keep his mind off such things, though. The mountain was buzzing with activity as everyone prepared for the feast, including the kitchens, where all the food was being prepared. Happy to finally be of some use, Bilbo had volunteered to help Bombur with his cooking. Bifur had joined them as well, since he had more of a knack for it than Bofur. There were a few other dwarves in the kitchen as well, most of them from the Orocarni, but Bilbo was content to keep out of their way.

He walked back to the table where they were working and set about chopping up some potatoes. Between Dale and Mirkwood, he'd finally been able to get his hands on some fresh vegetables, which was rather a relief. He'd found such things to be rather scarce in dwarvish diets.

Bifur grunted in appreciation as Bilbo finished chopping and scraped the pieces off the board and into the large, bronze pot on the stove.

"You're very good at that," Bombur said, stirring the pot with a large wooden spoon.

"It comes with lots of practice," Bilbo said with a laugh. He would have given quite a bit of coin for some mushrooms to go in the pot, but he was more that grateful to be eating something other than dried meat and cram for a change.

Bombur set the lid on the pot and crossed his arms. "We'll have to trade some recipes, you and I."

"Oh yes. I'll have to write to you about some of my favorite dishes." Bilbo's smile wavered. He did wish he could wait until Erebor was in a better place, and that he could share all the wonderful foods he knew how to cook with his friends.

Bifur nudged him with an elbow and raised an eyebrow. The question was clear, but it took a moment for Bilbo to gather his words.

"Well, it's just that I…I'll be leaving soon." He took a moment to brush a sliver of potato from his finger. "But part of me would like to stay a little longer."

"So why don't you?" Bombur asked.

Bilbo thought back to what Fíli had told him after the coronation—that he was welcome to stay—and he doubted any of his friends would dispute that among themselves. But he still found himself glancing around the room.

"Well, I don't exactly fit in, do I?"

Bifur grumbled something, sounding irritated, and Bombur nodded.

"He's right—what does it matter? None of us would even be standing here if it wasn't for you. Bilbo, you have every right to be here."

Bilbo felt a heat on his neck that had nothing to do with the rising temperature of the pot. "Well, I appreciate you saying that." He busied himself with stirring the stew, just to give himself a moment.

Bifur walked over and gave it a sniff, then said something to Bombur in Khuzdul.

"Aye, I think it's time to add the seasoning." Bombur smiled at Bilbo. "Ready to start adding the mystery spices?"

Bilbo chuckled. "Let's start with some salt for now." He walked over to the spices, acutely aware of how a couple of the other dwarves were watching him. They were currently working on some sort of dish that involved dried fruit, which smelled absolutely divine.

He found a tin container with salt and was halfway back to the stove when one of the dwarves shouted something, nearly making him jump out of his skin. He turned around, but couldn't understand a word of what the dwarf was saying to him.

Bombur walked up and took the tin from him. "That's sugar, lad."

"Oh." Bilbo looked down at the tin. There was a label in Khuzdul engraved on one side, but of course he couldn't understand it.

The two strangers turned away with low chuckles, though the noise did not sound pleasant at all.

"An honest mistake." Bombur patted him on the back and retrieved the correct container—a glass jar filled with white grains.

Perhaps it was so for dwarves, but Bilbo never would have heard the end of such a thing if he'd made that mistake in Hobbiton. He let out a huff, ears burning.

Well, just because he'd embarrassed himself didn't mean everyone else had to know about it.

Bilbo focused and turned back time about a minute, then retrieved the correct container. He strode over to the pot and handed the salt to Bombur.

"Thank you, Bilbo. I think this needs a little more thickening. Bifur, grab the flour, will you?" Bombur finished adding the salt and passed the jar back to Bilbo.

The two dwarves were still watching them. Another idea struck him. Bilbo made sure the lid was fast on the jar, then tossed it across the room. One of the dwarves caught it, almost instinctively it seemed. Bilbo dusted his hands off and turned away, but not before he caught the dwarves glance at him with grudging respect. At least, he hoped that's what it was.

Soon after the stew was finished, it was time for the bread to come out of the oven. Bifur and Bombur were busy doing dishes, so Bilbo carefully took the pan out with a sturdy cloth. He was just setting it on the counter to cool when Fíli appeared, leaning an elbow on the table next to him.

"You know, it's fairly common that no one likes the end of the loaf. It is the smallest piece, after all. I'm sure no one would miss it…"

Bilbo smacked away Fíli's encroaching hand. "I think you could stand to wait until tonight. It's too hot anyway—you'll burn your mouth."

"Dwarves have a higher tolerance for heat than most."

Bilbo shot him a dry look. "If you want this scrap of bread so badly, you could always issue some sort of royal decree demanding it."

Fíli laughed. "I'm saving that for special occasions." He leaned in. "All right. I'll make you a deal. The Orocarni dwarves brought some wine with them, but there's not enough for everyone. Most of it's going to be at the lords' table tonight. But it wouldn't be much trouble to share…"

He tilted his head. "It sounds like I'm getting more out of this offer than you are."

"As is typical of the generous Longbeard clan," Fíli said with an exaggerated bow that made Bilbo snort.

"All right, all right." Bilbo cut a small sliver off the end of the loaf and passed it to him. "But this stays between us."

Fíli put a fist over his heart, then tucked the bread into his mouth and swept out of the room.

Bilbo smiled, shaking his head, and went back to work.

* * *

Admittedly, Bilbo had forgotten all about the trade he'd made with Fíli until a few hours after the feast had started. He was much more concerned with the food that was being offered. Besides the stew and bread, there were spiced meats and fish and pastries. He was quite full, and his stomach hurt from laughing at Glóin's drunken attempts to arm wrestle any dwarf that came across his path.

It was then that he remembered the wine, and thought it might be a nice way to wrap up the evening, so he stood up from his table and made his way towards the end of the hall.

The room had gradually become more of a disarray as everyone had finished eating and gotten up to socialize. Dwarves really were a rowdy bunch, though Bilbo found that he'd gotten quite used to it over the past few months.

At the end of the hall was a table laid perpendicular to the rest, where Thorin, his nephews, and a few other dwarf lords from different kingdoms were sitting. Kíli saw him coming first and motioned for him to come around to the other end of the table. Fíli was nowhere to be seen, and Bilbo hoped that he didn't intend to skip out on his part of their deal.

"Are you enjoying the feast, Bilbo?" Kíli turned his chair slightly, making the wood scrape against the stone floor. "A bit livelier than the one after the coronation, eh?"

Thorin turned in his chair to smile at him, and Bilbo felt his heart give an exhilarated little skip. "Have a seat." He motioned for him to take what he supposed was Fíli's empty chair.

He wondered briefly if he was allowed to do so—but then again, Thorin _was_ the king—so Bilbo sat on Thorin's other side.

"How have you been?" Thorin asked in a slightly lower voice. "It's been a while since last I saw you."

Kíli gave them a strange look for a moment, then turned to talk to the dwarf on his other side.

Bilbo decided he would wonder about that look later. "I am well. Been keeping busy, I suppose. Though not as busy as you."

"Indeed. And there will be more to do now that spring is here." His gaze dimmed a little, and he searched Bilbo's face for a moment. "I'm told you'll be leaving soon."

"Oh. Yes." A cold trickle of something like guilt descended in his chest. He'd never really discussed the matter with Thorin. "I-I had decided on spring, but I shall have to wait until Gandalf arrives."

A dwarf appeared and filled Thorin's goblet with wine, and he reached over to take a sip from it, though his eyes never left Bilbo's face. "Then I will help you make arrangements for your journey home. Whatever supplies you may need, you will have it. If there were more of us here, I would send an armed guard with you."

"Thank you," Bilbo said, his smile slightly forced. His other friends had tried to persuade him to stay, but…but it was not so with Thorin. "And I certainly hope I won't be in need of an armed guard. I'll be grateful if I run into half as much trouble going back as I did getting here."

Thorin laughed, and turned his head aside so he could cough into his fist. "And as long as the wizard does not disappear just before he is needed."

"I should at least like to make it to Rivendell before he tries something like that." Bilbo shook his head and glanced at the crowd of dwarves. Well, there was something to look forward to—he would be able to see the valley again on his way back, and there would be no rowdy dwarves to disrupt the peace and quiet. There would be no campfires from broken chair legs, none of Bofur's songs or Kíli's poor attempts at flirting with the elves…

He turned back to see Thorin looking at him with something like apprehension. "I know there is not much here at the moment. But if there is anything that would convince you to—" He turned away and coughed again, harder this time.

Bilbo put a hand on his back. "Are you all right? That wine didn't go down the wrong pipe, did it?"

Thorin swallowed with some difficulty and took in a ragged breath. Abruptly, he stood up, nearly tipping over his chair, then staggered and sank to one knee.

"Thorin?" Any trace of amusement vanished as Bilbo knelt down next to him and braced a hand against his chest. "Thorin, talk to me, what's happening?"

Kíli turned, having heard the small commotion, and knelt at his other side. "Uncle? What's wrong?"

Several other dwarves were watching them, but Bilbo barely noticed. He kept his palm against Thorin's chest, against the flutter of his heartbeat, as he sank to the floor. He continued coughing and wheezing, struggling for air with painful gasps.

"We need a healer," he said, feeling as if the air had left his own lungs. He looked around desperately, though Óin was nowhere to be seen, and his gaze fell on the gleaming gold goblet on the table. The realization hit him like a winter wind. "H-He's been poisoned!"

Kíli leapt to his feet as though the poisoner was readying to strike again. He shouted something in Khuzdul to the onlooking dwarves, and Bilbo looked down at Thorin. He was still struggling for air, his blue eyes wide and panicked.

"It's all right," Bilbo whispered, thumbing a stray lock of hair from his cheek. "It's all right. Just—Just hang in there. Stay with me, Thorin."

An unfamiliar dwarf with brown hair pushed through the crowd and came around the table. Kíli pushed a couple of the chairs aside to make room. He turned to look at Thorin, and his face drained of color.

Chest heaving, Bilbo looked down. Thorin's eyes were open, but they were still. There was no movement beneath Bilbo's hand.

"_No!_" Kíli dove to the ground, shaking Thorin's shoulder, but there was no response.

Bilbo sat back on his heels and stared down at Thorin's slack face. His panic had been washed clean away, replaced by a blinding emptiness like the center of the sun. As Kíli's shoulders shook with sobs, as more dwarves began to crowd around, their voices rising in volume as they talked over one another, Bilbo carefully stood up and sat himself back in his chair. He closed his eyes and focused, and the hall went silent.

He only had a minute or so to compose himself before he reached the intended moment. He stared at the empty goblet until its curved outline shone in his vision, then released his hold.

"There will be more to do now that spring is here," Thorin was saying. He turned to Bilbo and frowned. "Are you all right?"

"Y-Yes." His heart was still pounding, hard enough that he could feel it in his collarbone, and he had no doubt he was a little pale. "I was just, um…"

The dwarf appeared and filled Thorin's goblet with wine. The liquid pooled just below the rim, looking disturbingly like blood. Thorin lifted a hand to reach for the wine, and Bilbo moved instinctively. His hand shot out, fingers knocking against the goblet, which tipped over and spilled wine all over the table.

"Oh!" He withdrew his hand. "Sorry about that. I only wanted to get a better look at that cup."

"Perhaps you should stay away from the drink for now." Thorin righted the goblet with a smile.

_Well, it's not _me_ who needs to worry_. Bilbo took a slow, calming breath as subtly as he could and placed his hands in his lap. "Well, anyways. You were saying?"

"I wanted to ask you about your plans. I heard you were thinking about leaving soon."

"Yes." His fingers curled into a fist, and Bilbo took another deep breath.

He was beginning to realize that there was someone out there, probably multiple someones, who did not at all agree with how Thorin was running the kingdom. Not only that, but they were prepared to kill him to make sure his plans did not come to pass. And if there was one thing this night had taught him, it was that these underhanded plots were well-concealed, and no one on Thorin's side was going to have any idea about them until it was too late.

And there was only one person to whom the phrase "too late" did not apply.

"Yes," he repeated. "I was thinking about leaving, but I've just decided I want to stay a little longer. I-I think I'd like to see Erebor once things have settled down a bit."

Thorin's expression brightened at this. "I am glad to hear it. And I'm sure there will be an opportunity for you to help, if that is what you wish."

"I'd like that." Warmth began to replace the subsiding anxiety in his chest.

"One of the Company would gladly take you on as an assistant." Thorin nodded, seemingly lost in thought. "And I mean to strengthen ties between Erebor and Dale…"

"Ambassador to Dale?" Bilbo laughed. "Isn't that too, I don't know, official for me?"

"Bard respects you. And you'd bring a more neutral perspective than a dwarf would."

Before Bilbo could fully ponder that idea, the same dwarf approached the table and, to his utter exasperation, filled Thorin's goblet with another helping of wine.

"I think that's a splendid idea." And before Thorin could so much as lift a finger, Bilbo reached over and took the cup, holding it close to his chest. Thorin raised an eyebrow, and he said, "Did you know Fíli promised me some wine from your table?"

"And so you've chosen to take my goblet, burglar?" Thorin smiled, clearly finding the situation more amusing than Bilbo did.

"I'll have you know my days of being a burglar are long past."

His fingers tightened around the cool metal stem. Thorin was safe from the poisoned wine for now, but he wasn't quite sure how to proceed from here. He was not at all inclined to drink it himself, since he wasn't sure at all that his abilities would allow him to save himself from death.

"Bilbo." Thorin spoke quietly, all traces of humor gone from his face. "Are you sure you're all right? You've been acting strange tonight."

"Have I?" He tried not to wince as his voice wavered. Perhaps his best option was to get as close to the truth as he could, and if that did not work, then he would simply have to try again. He frowned down at the deep red liquid. "You know, this wine doesn't smell quite right."

"What do you mean?"

Before Bilbo could respond, another dwarf, different than the last one that had approached, appeared across the table with an angular silver decanter in one hand, and a matching goblet in the other.

"More to drink, your majesty?" Without waiting for an answer, he filled the goblet and placed it on the table.

Bilbo straightened, and had to fight back a sudden surge of anger. He would almost have rather an orc be standing across the table—at least those you could impale with a sword and be done with.

But that would of course not be appropriate for the moment. Bilbo put on his most affable and courteous smile, normally reserved for dinner parties with his Baggins relatives, and raised the goblet in his hand. "My good sir, this is a most excellent-tasting wine. Have you had the chance to indulge yourself?"

The dwarf glanced at him, and the skin around his eyes tightened slightly. "This wine is not for me. It is for the esteemed King of Erebor."

Thorin cast a sidelong glance at Bilbo, then turned back to the dwarf. "It's all right," he said, switching to a lighter tone just as easily. "You have my permission to taste it yourself."

The dwarf gave a halting laugh. "I-I couldn't. It is not…"

The smile slid off Thorin's face. "As King of Erebor," he said lowly, "I command it."

The dwarf stared at him for a long moment. He let go of the decanter and goblet, which both crashed to the ground, then seized the edge of the table and threw it forwards. Thorin leapt to his feet, pulling Bilbo out of his chair and behind him in one swift motion. A resounding crash went up as platters and leftover food spilled from the upturned table.

The dwarf had taken the opportunity to make a run for it. But he hadn't made it far before Nori, who was sitting at one of the nearer tables, stuck out a foot and tripped him, all without lowering his mug of beer from his lips. A trio of dwarves converged on the downed assassin.

Thorin, who had been hovering in front of Bilbo and mostly blocking his view of the proceedings, turned to him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm perfectly fine," Bilbo said and, realizing he was clutching Thorin's sleeve, reluctantly let go.

A couple of guards dragged the poisoner before their upturned table and forced him to his knees. Blood was running from his nose and into his beard, and he spat some of it onto the floor.

Thorin drew himself up to his full height as he faced the poisoner, and even though Bilbo could not see his face, he could easily imagine the thunderous anger on it.

"Treason," he said, his voice booming across the hall. The dwarf squirmed with a growl, and Thorin cut him off. "Do not speak. You will be questioned later, and you and any co-conspirators will be found and punished accordingly. The Line of Durin will not be felled by such treachery and cowardice."

"The Line of Durin," the dwarf spat, struggling against the grip on his shoulders, "will bring this kingdom to ruin."

Something flashed in his palm. A tiny bottle, Bilbo realized, that he must have rolled out of his sleeve. Before anyone could react, he flicked the cork off and downed the contents. One of the guards snatched the bottle from his hand with a cry, but it was too late. The dwarf retched, foam and blood spilling from his lips, and collapsed.

Several dwarves shouted in outrage. Thorin cursed, his whole body rigid with rage. He stalked around the table and began issuing orders to the guards in Khuzdul. Bilbo realized he was shaking and sat down in his chair, his eyes fixed on the crooked body of the dwarf.

**I had a lot of writer's block with this chapter but in that last scene it turned into straight dread…I do not like killing Thorin lol. He's turning into the Teddy Flood of this story. I'm still figuring out the pacing but I promise Thorin won't die in the next chapter. Probably**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

This was Bilbo's first time in the Erebor's royal palace, though he hadn't had much of an opportunity to appreciate it. They had passed through a grand entrance adorned with gold inlays and gems, most of it was marred by claw marks that sank several inches into the stone. The interior showed similar signs of destruction and decay, but Bilbo had been a bit too preoccupied to take all of it in.

Every single member of the Company, save Dwalin, was standing in a dusty room in the east wing of the palace, with Thorin at the head. Lord Dáin had stalked off a few minutes earlier—the poisoner had been an Iron Hills dwarf, so it only made since that he attempt to find the conspirators. But it was clear that this was not a discussion amongst officials and guards, but rather between the people Thorin could absolutely trust. The number seemed frighteningly small to Bilbo, compared to the volume of dwarves in the feast hall.

"We'll launch an investigation," Balin was saying. He spoke at his normal even tone, but his face was flushed, his features pinched. "And we'll have to add some extra security measures, at least until we find the culprits." He turned to Bilbo. "You saw the first dwarf, aye? You remember what he looks like?"

Bilbo nodded. "He had sort of reddish-brown hair, with—"

"Save it for later," Balin said. "I'll be writing all this up afterwards."

Thorin crossed his arms. "And what of this added security? I cannot simply hide in here until the conspirators are found."

"You could have someone taste your food and drink before you partake," Glóin said. "To guard against another poison attack."

"No," Thorin said immediately. "I would not put another's life at risk for the sake of my own. Not like that."

"That wouldn't work for slow-acting poisons anyway," Nori said from where he was leaning against the wall. "If I was him, I would've had some sort of slow-acting poison and an antidote on hand. Then I would've been able to get away with that little charade at the feast."

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"What?" He spread his hands. "Isn't it best to know how the enemy thinks?"

"If the enemy thinks like you, then we're all doomed," Bofur said.

"Anyway," Balin said. "We're short on guards at the moment, and people we know we can trust." He looked around at the inhabitants of the room.

"You risked your lives for this kingdom once," Thorin said. He looked incredibly tired in the moment, the line between his brows growing deeper. "I would not ask this of you if I did not have to."

"Well, no need to make an event out of it," Bofur said. He had taken one of the few chairs in the room, and was sitting with his legs stretched out. "Unless you're going to give us official badges or something. We'll all chip in and get this mess sorted out."

A murmur of agreement went up from the rest of the Company. Thorin nodded once, some of the tension on his face easing.

"It's settled, then," Balin said. "We'll draw up a plan of action and decide what to do next."

The planning went by swiftly—they were all assigned people and places to keep an eye on and instructed on where to report to once they were finished. It was rather reminiscent of their time traveling and assigning watch schedules, and Bilbo was surprised to find himself almost nostalgic for those days on the road. Life had certainly been simpler then.

Once that business was finished, everyone began filing out of the room. Bilbo followed, eager to crawl into bed, though he didn't think he'd be able to get any sleep after the day's events.

"Bilbo."

He turned to see Thorin motioning for him to stay, and stepped aside to let Óin and Bombur pass. A moment later, it was just the two of them in the room.

"I wanted to ask you," Thorin clasped his hands together, "how you knew about the poison."

He froze. "Oh."

"I don't suspect you, of course," he added quickly. "I only wanted to know."

Bilbo was reminded, briefly, of watching Thorin's darkened eyes roam the treasure hall, of feeling the weight of the Arkenstone in his pocket. But he brushed aside the memory. Thorin had a clear head now, and they all wanted the same thing.

Still, it felt rather awkward, coming up with a lie. "Well, I suppose you wouldn't know this, but hobbits have a very sensitive sense of smell. As soon as I had the wine in my hands, I smelled something rather strange, but I didn't know what to think of it." His eyes flickered to the floor. "I suppose…I suppose it was also a feeling, that something wasn't right."

Thorin stepped forward, closing most of the distance between them. "You saved my life tonight." His lips quirked in a small smile. "And not for the first time."

Unbidden, the image came to him, of Thorin lying on the floor with that horrible blank expression—and then the mangled rubble beside the river, Azog's sword piercing his chest…

He had made it so that those things were not real, and they never had been. But the images stayed with him, even more so in his dreams. The echo of terror in his heart was very real. But Thorin was standing there before him, with an expression that never failed to make exhilaration flutter in his chest, and that was enough to quiet some of his leftover panic.

"I owe a debt to you that can hardly be repaid," Thorin continued. "But if there is anything you desire—"

"E-Excuse me," Bilbo said, and nearly surprised himself with the reproach in his voice. "I'll have you know I did not save your life in hopes of getting something out of it, and I'm rather insulted that you would even consider such a thing."

Thorin's eyes widened slightly. "Of course. I-I didn't mean—"

"The only thing I desire is your safety, and health, and happiness." Impulsively, he grasped Thorin's upper arms, and tried very hard not to think about the firm muscle present beneath the fabric of his shirt. "And the only thing I would ask of you is that you not get yourself killed, o-or nearly killed, at any rate."

Feeling rather flustered, he pulled his hands back and let out a short sigh.

Thorin's face was tinged pink, but he retained most of his composure as he said, "Then I will do my best to keep that promise, if that is what you desire." He met Bilbo's eyes, and Bilbo was forcefully reminded of everything else he desired, and how he was too much of a coward to say a word about it.

All he could manage at the moment was, "Good." He straightened his waistcoat. "Good. Then I suppose we'd both better get some rest, and tomorrow we'll focus on keeping you alive for the coming weeks."

"That seems like a good plan." Thorin looked him over once more. "Goodnight, Bilbo."

"Goodnight, Thorin." And, feeling his heart pound against his ribs, Bilbo turned and all but fled the room.

* * *

At first, Bilbo was not sure what to make of the glinting light coming from the rock wall. A spot on the stone, about twenty feet up, seemed to be winking at him, like a star. Frowning, he stepped forward, and a shape below caught his eye. Hidden in the shadows was an opening, which he realized was the bottom of a staircase.

He followed the steps upwards, peering through the darkness, and found Nori at the top. The stairs led to a narrow hallway, clearly not meant for daily travel, but the passage was open on one side, giving them a clear view of everything below.

Nori held up the palm-sized mirror in his hand. "I was trying to signal you."

Bilbo took a seat across from him and set the bag he'd brought in his lap. "You know, it would have been easier to just say, 'After you reach the end of the corridor, take the stairs on the right.'"

"Aye, but secrecy is of the utmost importance, here." Nori stowed the mirror in his coat, and Bilbo decided not to argue with him on it.

"So, what exactly are we doing?" Bilbo glanced at the cavern just outside their hiding spot. To one end was the corridor where he'd come from, and to the other was a narrow bridge across a dark chasm. This was a quiet area, far from the bustle of usual business, and he hadn't seen another soul for a good half hour before arriving here.

"Well, the guards shut the gates immediately after the incident at the feast, and no one has been in or out since," Nori said. "So our assassins must still be inside the mountain. And they wouldn't be able to go about their business in plain sight, eh?"

"Right." Bilbo nodded. "Since so many people saw that other dwarf at the feast."

"Exactly. They must have picked somewhere out of the way to hide, which," he swept an arm to the side, "isn't that hard in a place like Erebor." He glanced down at the bridge. "This passage leads to another section of the mountain. No one would have any business coming down here unless they had something to hide."

Bilbo followed his gaze. "So we're supposed to sit here and wait for someone to walk by?"

"Aye." Nori rested an elbow on his bent knee. "The others are keeping watch in a few other places. It's just like guard duty, but we have a better chance of actually catching criminals."

Bilbo watched him for a moment. "You like this, don't you? I haven't seen you this energetic in weeks."

Nori glanced at him. After a pause, he said, "Well, I won't deny it. Never been able to live without a little danger in my life. Just not too keen on my friends being the ones in danger."

Bilbo nodded and lowered his gaze. He was beginning to feel more uneasy around the other dwarves in Erebor, in a way he hadn't felt before. At the start of their journey, the Company had made him feel rather out of place and inadequate, but never uneasy. And even if they did manage to resolve this whole business, he wasn't sure that feeling would entirely disappear.

"I don't think they like me."

"Eh?" Nori glanced at him.

"The other dwarves. I mean…everyone who wasn't part of the Company. They've all made it very clear that I'm an outsider."

"Well, you are. And most of them hardly interact with men or elves, which means they've probably never seen a hobbit."

"So why would they judge me, if they don't know anything about me?"

"Because you're not a dwarf. I don't know if it's possible to not judge someone, anyway." Nori shrugged. "It just takes time. We came round to you soon enough."

Bilbo sighed. Nori made a good point, but he wasn't at all reassured by how some of the dwarves glared or outright ignored him.

"If you jump in front of another orc pack to save Thorin, that might put a few points in your favor."

He rolled his eyes. _I think I've done enough of that for a lifetime_. "Well, anyway, if we're going to be stuck here for the rest of the day, then I'm glad I brought this." He reached into the bag in his lap and pulled out a few slices of bread wrapped in cloth, along with some dried meat and a precious bit of goat cheese he'd bought earlier.

"Of course you brought food."

Bilbo sniffed and started unwrapping his provisions. "Well, I was going to share, but if you're going to ridicule me like that…"

"You know I was only joking." He sat up, eyeing the food with more interest. "Did you bring any rum?"

"No, I did not bring any rum. It's not even noon," Bilbo said with a reprimanding glare. "And anyway, we shouldn't be drinking while we're supposed to be on the lookout for dangerous conspirators."

"I've found it can improve concentration."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"I'm the expert here, aren't I?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but handed him a slice of bread.

* * *

Bilbo woke early the next morning, though he didn't realize it until a while after. He still wasn't quite used to living under a mountain, beneath solid stone with the no immediate way to tell what time of day it was. He sometimes missed the sunlight that would stream through the windows of Bag End, how the soft golden light would wake him up in the morning.

But there was no use in dwelling on that. Bag End was half a world away, and Bilbo did not feel comfortable going back until he knew things were sorted out in Erebor. He made himself his usual cup of tea, then set out to confer with the others.

He and Nori had kept watch for hours the previous day (which had left him with a sore backside and a silent promise to bring a cushion for next time), but without any results, and he hadn't heard from the others about any success they may or may not have had.

A dwarf passed him at a brisk pace, bringing him out of his thoughts. Bilbo watched him pass by on with a frown. _Well, he's in a hurry._

As he neared the front gate, he noticed more dwarves hurrying past, both to and from the entrance. There had been a similar commotion the day the Orocarni dwarves had arrived, but he doubted this was for the same reason—as far as he knew, the mountain was still barred from outsiders.

Suddenly wishing he had brought Sting with him, Bilbo headed towards the gate. More dwarves were crowded around the wall, which was still under repair. The buzz of half a dozen arguments filled the hall.

Trying to make himself inconspicuous (which wasn't terribly difficult around a bunch of busy dwarves), Bilbo climbed up to the top of the wall and spotted Glóin. He hurried over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"What's going on?"

Glóin's face was uncharacteristically grim. "The hunting party was supposed to return today."

Bilbo looked at the other side of the wall, but there was no one there. The sun was rising, casting a long shadow over the land to the west. "Well, perhaps they were delayed." Even as he said it, he couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Glóin handed him a wooden cylinder. "Look through this." He pointed towards the eastern slopes of the mountain.

Bilbo hesitated, then held the cylinder up to one eye. There was a piece of glass inside, and he found with some surprise that it made the craggy slopes appear much closer than they actually were. He took a moment to scan the area, until his vision landed on a series of fenceposts set on one of the ridges. They were rather strangely shaped—

They weren't fenceposts.

Someone had set thin pieces of wood into the ground, and on top of each was a…a head. Even from a distance Bilbo could recognize the braided beards gently swaying in the breeze.

He lowered the cylinder, which nearly slipped from his fingers. The gruesome display was now no more than a slight, dark smudge on the side of the slope. But the image was burned into his mind, and there was no denying that it was frighteningly real.

**Still have half an essay to write that's due tomorrow, but enjoy the chapter!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning for a little bit more intense violence in this chapter, and subsequent wound care.**

**Chapter 6**

Balin found him sitting in an alcove in the entrance hall, his hands clasped between his knees.

"Are you all right, laddie?"

Bilbo looked up and blinked. The hall was not so noisy anymore, and as he looked up he could only see a handful of dwarves atop the wall, talking in low, grim voices.

He cleared his throat. "I-I think so." He'd only wanted a quiet moment to himself after what he'd seen, but he wasn't quite sure how long he'd been sitting there. The sight of those severed heads had transported him right back to the smoking, blood-soaked wasteland just after the battle. He'd thought, apparently wrongly, that all of them would be able to leave that violence and grief in the past.

"They've taken down the heads," Balin said lowly. "Brought them back to the mountain, identified them." He took a moment to swallow. "Dwalin wasn't among them."

"Oh." The word came out as a sigh of relief, but it was immediately replaced with another half dozen worries. "So…So that means—"

"We don't yet know what it means," Balin said, his mouth set in a straight line. "Only that there's a chance he may not yet be dead."

"Right." His hands curled into fists, and he pressed them against his thighs to stop them from shaking. "I should have…"

"What is it?"

Clenching his jaw, Bilbo shook his head. "Perhaps I could have stopped this. I-If I'd known this was going to happen earlier, I could have—"

Balin laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Don't put this all on yourself, laddie. I know you've been using these abilities of yours, and you've done a lot of good with it. But it is not your duty to protect all the lives in Erebor."

"I know." Bilbo closed his eyes and let out a calming breath. "So, what now?"

His brow lowered. "Now, things will be…difficult. We're down ten warriors, and most of them had families—brothers, cousins, children. They'll want revenge, by any means possible. But we're barely able to defend the mountain as it is. We'll likely have to keep the gates shut until reinforcements arrive."

Except it wasn't exactly safe inside the mountain, what with the damned assassins lurking about.

"Couldn't we ask for help from the elves, or something?"

Balin turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "Do you think they would give it? Or that Erebor would accept it?"

They both looked up to see Bombur running towards him, his red braided beard bouncing with each step. "The main hall," he puffed when he reached them, not even bothering to catch his breath. "We have a problem."

Bilbo straightened. "W-What problem?"

But Balin was already on his feet in hurrying in that direction, and Bilbo had no choice but to follow.

* * *

Bombur was right—there was indeed a problem in the main hall, though at first Bilbo wasn't sure what it was, exactly. The room was filled with dwarves, some of whom he recognized from the gate that morning. They were gathered in a raucous crowd, their raised voices echoing off the stone.

Balin, his face set in a scowl, marched around the edge of the crowd, peering inside as though searching for something. Bilbo turned to Bombur, who had just caught up with them.

"What's going on?"

"They're clamoring for war," Bombur said. "Or as much of one that we would be able to give in our current state."

Bilbo followed Balin's path around the edge of the crowd. As he neared the other side of the room, he caught a glimpse of Thorin, facing the crowd and flanked by Fíli and Kíli. He was shouting something in Khuzdul, but even his powerful voice could not compete with the clamoring of the crowd.

Everyone was speaking in Khuzdul, the syllables barely distinguishable to Bilbo's ears, but he caught a phrase that he'd learned quite well: _Du bekar_. The dwarves seemed ready to march on the orcs at this very moment.

Bombur had followed him, and reached out to grasp his arm. "We should get out of here. I think things are going to get ugly soon."

"Yes, that's precisely why…" Bilbo turned back to the churning crowd. He needed to get to Thorin—needed to protect him. He had an awful feeling something bad was about to happen.

"Bilbo, what are you doing?" Bombur asked, but he was already making his way towards the crowd.

The dwarves were moving, arguing amongst one another, and though Bilbo tried to stay on the fringes of it, he found himself having to dodge a few jabbing elbows and stomping boots. He wasn't sure at all why they were so worked up (though, to be fair, he had seen the Company erupt into arguments over far smaller things) and he was even less sure how Thorin planned to calm them down. A certain wizard's booming voice might have done the trick, if he was here.

The familiar scrape of metal sounded from somewhere within the throng. Someone had drawn their blade, and this was the final blow that shattered any sort of composure the crowd might have had. The noise rose to an uproar, and the mob became a knot of shoving hands and flying fists. Bilbo leapt to the side before a dwarf could be shoved right into him.

He dropped low, ducking between a pair of wrestling dwarves, and darted to the edge of the chaos. He immediately raised his head, trying to find Thorin. He finally spotted him at one end of the hall, trying to break apart two brawling dwarves while Fíli and Kíli tried to keep a couple other dwarves at bay.

Bilbo watched them for a single moment, breathing hard, and saw a dark-haired dwarf slip through the crowd, saw his hand dart to his belt, saw him reach Thorin just as he shoved the two dwarves apart and drive a knife towards his heart.

"_No!_" It was instinct at this point, to raise one hand and stop everything. With it came blessed silence, but Bilbo didn't bother to appreciate it. Before he knew it, he was running, dodging and slipping between dwarves as they began to move backwards. He lost sight of the dwarf with the knife, but that wasn't his focus for the moment. He released his hold just before he reached Thorin, and ran to him.

"Bilbo!" Thorin caught sight of him, and grasped his shoulders. "You need to get out of here. It's not safe—"

"It's not safe for _you_." Bilbo shoved at his chest, though he might as well have been pushing a stone wall for all the good it did. He shot a nervous glance over his shoulder. "You need to leave, right now."

His brows lowered into that typical, infuriating stubborn scowl. "This is _my_ problem, Bilbo. These are _my_ people. I cannot just leave."

"Thorin, _please_ listen to me," Bilbo said, though even as the words left his mouth, he knew they would be useless. Thorin had never been one to flee from a fight, and he would not allow another to take on what he considered his responsibility. His courage, his good heart, his selflessness—everything Bilbo loved about him was about to get him killed.

The crowd surged around them. Thorin took Bilbo by the shoulders and tried to pull him out of the way. "Go, before you get hurt."

Bilbo stammered, frustration leaving him at a loss for words. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the knife-wielding dwarf appear and lunge forward. He did the only thing he could think of.

Stopping time for the brief moment needed to place himself between the dwarf and Thorin, he darted forward and braced himself.

The knife entered his shoulder, just below his collarbone, and for a brief moment he felt nothing more than a deep, unpleasant pinching sensation.

The dwarf's eyes widened in surprise, and he let go of the dagger. Thorin roared in anger, and Bilbo could feel the vibration as he stumbled backwards into his chest. A flash of black and gray appeared in his vision as Bifur slammed into the dwarf with the full weight of his body.

Bilbo took in a breath, and the motion was enough to jostle the knife in his body. The pinching sensation turned into a spike of agony, and white sparks spattered his vision.

Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and back and lowered him to the floor. Thorin's face appeared in his vision, his eyes wide and full of more fear than he'd ever seen.

"Bilbo!" His hands pressed down on the wound, making him cry out.

"D-Don't do that," Bilbo gasped, trying in vain to pry his hands away. "That _hurts_." Distantly, he realized that he was still quite irritated with Thorin, and it was his stubbornness that had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Another part of him was quite worried that Thorin was leaning over him, his back exposed, with no regard for anyone else who might feel like killing him.

"It's all right." Thorin's voice was ragged, breathless. "You're going to be all right." He bent down and scooped Bilbo into his arms, and he bit back another cry as his wound was jostled again.

It was difficult to see what was going on around them—it was difficult to focus on anything other than the pain radiating from his shoulder. It hurt to breathe, so Bilbo tried to focus on holding his breath and keeping his chest as still as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dori shoving a dwarf backwards with the length of a metal rod.

"Bilbo?" Thorin's voice was taut with worry just above him. He was moving at a brisk pace, while trying to keep his arms still. The cacophony of the crowd had begun to fade, and he guessed that they had managed to escape. "Stay with me, all right?"

He gave a small groan in lieu of a reply. His jaw ached from clenching it tight, trying to keep from gasping or crying out. His free hand, he realized was fisted around the edge of Thorin's coat.

Blood had soaked through the fabric of his shirt, making it cling sticky and warm to his skin. At the bottom of his vision he could see the handle of the knife, how it moved with his shuddering breaths, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

It seemed both a moment and an eternity later that Thorin placed him down, and Óin appeared on his other side. Bilbo looked around and realized they were in the infirmary.

"All right, laddie," Óin said. "I need you to take a breath for me. As deep as you can manage."

Bilbo had been trying to limit his breathing to shallow gasps, as these seemed to hurt the least. It was with a great amount of effort that he sucked in a breath, and groaned as the pain flared up.

Óin rolled up his sleeves. "We'll have to take the knife out before anything else."

"What can I do?" Thorin demanded.

He tossed him a clean white cloth. "We'll need to put pressure on the wound immediately. Get ready."

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut. He was not looking forward to this in the slightest, especially if the knife was going to hurt coming out as much as it did going in.

Óin braced a hand on his chest, right below the wound. "Don't move." He gripped the handle of the dagger and began to pull.

Involuntarily, he let out another strangled cry, only barely stopping himself from trying to squirm out of Óin's reach. The wound _burned_—it felt as though his skin was being split open. Thorin's free hand slipped into his own, his large, warm fingers wrapping around his skin.

The knife finally came out, and Bilbo barely had any time to ponder on any sort of relief before Thorin was pressing down onto the wound, prompting another groan from him. Bilbo tightened his grasp on Thorin's hand, enough that he was certain it was painful, but he couldn't bring himself to let go.

He held on as long minutes ticked past, until Óin announced that the bleeding had slowed and began stitching him up. The needle stung badly, even compared to the pain of the much larger knife that had pierced his flesh. Thorin, with his other hand free, placed it on Bilbo's uninjured shoulder, his thumb drawing small, comforting circles. Bilbo thought he caught a small tremor pass through his hand.

Óin was finished within minutes. He disappeared, and came back a moment later with a small bottle, which he pressed to Bilbo's lips. "Drink this."

The liquid was thin, and had a pungent, bitter aftertaste. Bilbo swallowed with a wince.

"Something to ease your pain," Óin said. "Just relax for now."

"Will he live?" Thorin asked lowly, though Bilbo was still quite capable of hearing him.

"I suspect the knife just barely missed his lung. If that's the case, he'll have an easier time of it."

Bilbo sighed, and found it was slightly easier to breathe. Slowly, the pain had begun to ebb from his body, and a sudden drowsiness overtook him. The rest of the words exchanged between Thorin and Óin slipped past his mind like a light summer breeze, and the last thing he felt was the warmth of Thorin's hand still grasping his own.

* * *

When Bilbo came to, he registered with a wince that whatever medicine Óin had given him must have worn off. His shoulder ached something terrible, and every breath still conjured a flare of pain.

Cracking his eyes open, he reached up and gingerly felt the wound. There were clean bandages around his shoulder and chest, and…

"Bilbo?" Thorin appeared at the edge of the cot. "How do you feel?"

"I have to admit, I've been better." His hand brushed against bare skin, and he realized someone must have removed his shirt while he was asleep, and that his chest was quite bare. Heat flushed onto his cheeks.

Thorin looked him over, and his brow furrowed. "You must be cold." He rushed away without waiting for a confirmation. "There must be something here…"

Bilbo could hear him rummaging about the room, though he didn't particularly feel like sitting up to see what he was doing. He focused his gaze on the rough-hewn rock above. He thought he could make out a pattern that looked a bit like a candelabra in the lines of the stone.

"Here." Thorin had returned. He unfolded a plain blue blanket and laid it over Bilbo, careful of his wound. The cloth was rather thin, but it provided a small measure of warmth, and kept him from any further embarrassment.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Only a few hours. Óin says as long as your breathing remains normal, you should make a full recovery."

"Well, that's good to hear," Bilbo said with a small smile, but Thorin's expression had darkened, his gaze growing distant. "Something's bothering you."

He raised an eyebrow. "That would be the angry mob rampaging through Erebor's halls." His scowl deepened. "One of whom nearly killed you."

"Thorin…"

"That dagger was meant for me." The anger suddenly left his tone, and his voice wavered. "I…I am truly sorry, Bilbo. I failed to protect you."

"_You_ failed to…" The irony of the statement struck him, and Bilbo began to laugh—then stopped with a wince as the motion jostled his wound.

Thorin frowned at him. "I'm struggling to find any humor in this situation."

"I know. It's only that you're blaming yourself for not protecting me, when…"

He searched his face for a moment, and realization sparked in his gaze. "You've always been there to protect _me_. When you took that knife you…you appeared, as if from thin air."

"Yes." Bilbo took as deep a breath as he could manage. He couldn't deny it was getting rather hazardous to be involved in his dance between Thorin and whatever was trying to kill him at the moment. And he would probably find it all much easier if Thorin knew exactly what was going on. "There…There's something I need to tell you."

He started to push himself into a sitting position, leaning heavily on his uninjured shoulder. Thorin swiftly moved to adjust the pillow behind him and help him get situated. His callused hands brushed against the bare skin of his back, and Bilbo tried hard not to think about it.

He sat back with a sigh. "I…I know this is going to sound strange. But I promise I am telling the truth. I've already told Balin, and you can ask him if you like."

Thorin took a seat on the edge of the cot. "I trust you, Bilbo."

He took a moment to rearrange the blanket into a more comfortable position. "It started during the battle. I was in Ravenhill, trying to find you, and one of the orcs knocked me out. When I came to, I ran to find you, and I reached you just as you were fighting Azog on the ice."

"I remember this," Thorin said.

"Yes, but…" He took a moment to collect himself. What had happened was no longer in the past, but a mere memory in his mind. "You were losing to him. I watched him run his sword through your chest."

Thorin raised a hand to his heart, over a wound that did not exist. "You saw Azog…kill me?"

"Well, yes, the first time. But I managed to…I-I don't know, go back into the past, a few minutes before, and stop that from happening. _That_ is the part you remember."

Thorin turned away, a crease appearing between his brows. Bilbo thought he would have been relieved to know he'd avoided a horrible death (or several, for that matter), but sometimes there was no telling what was going on inside his head.

"I was never meant to defeat Azog," he said lowly. "He was supposed to kill me there, on Ravenhill."

His eyes widened. "Thorin, listen to yourself."

"Bilbo, I am grateful that you risked your life for me, but that was not my fate. I should be dead."

"Well, yes, perhaps." His voice was beginning to shake. "But I saw that happen. I saw you die, Thorin, and I wasn't about to let it happen again. It doesn't _matter_ what was supposed to happen. I couldn't care less if Azog tripped and impaled himself on his own sword. What matters is that you're here, and you're alive, and I—" He swallowed hard and settled back. The rest of his sentence echoed through his mind, held on his tongue by cowardice.

Thorin finally looked at him, something like sadness weighing on his gaze. "I thought I would be able to prove myself a worthy king by defeating Azog. But now that I know it was not a true victory—"

"What, because I helped you?" Bilbo let out an indignant huff, ignoring the twinge of pain in his shoulder. "You know, I've gone through a great deal of trouble to keep you alive, and while I'm not expecting any sort of gratitude, it would be nice to know that you actually _want_ to live."

"I do." Thorin frowned. "But you don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly. You've been doubting yourself, with everything that's been going on. But as things stand now, the fact is that you _did_ defeat Azog. And there are other ways to prove yourself than by killing some damned orc."

Thorin held his gaze for a long moment, and his expression softened. "I hear you. And I will think about what you said." He blinked, as if realizing something. "That moment at the battle was not the only time you've saved my life."

"Well, yes. You didn't let me finish my story." And Bilbo quickly recounted the incidents at the river, the feast, and in the main hall earlier that day.

As he spoke, Thorin's expression fell further. "Time and again," he said softly. "You have put yourself in harm's way for my sake." His gaze went to the scar on Bilbo's cheek, the bandages wrapped around his chest. "With no oath, no duty or promise of reward binding you to this. I…I do not deserve such a friend as you, Bilbo."

Something in his chest clenched, tightly. "You do, Thorin," he whispered. He took his hand and squeezed it. "You are a good king, and a good dwarf, and well worth being kept alive. And you deserve to have people who…who care about you."

Thorin met his eyes, and something like a smile ghosted across his lips. "Thank you, Bilbo."

He nodded, his heart beating fast. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to close the distance between them and express to Thorin exactly what he felt.

But Thorin released his hand after a moment and stood up. "You should rest. Bofur and Bombur are keeping watch outside. They'll see to it that you're safe, have your needs met."

His brow furrowed. "I'm not in any danger, am I?"

"It's better that we're cautious. Many things will have to change after today." He started to turn away, then paused. "Thank you for telling me the truth, Bilbo."

"O-Of course." Bilbo watched him walk through the door, the weight of all he'd left unspoken sitting heavily on his chest.

* * *

He spent several restless days sitting in the infirmary, having Óin change his bandages and watching his wound slowly begin to heal. Dori brought him tea and conversation, and Bofur dropped in occasionally to inform him on what was happening around the mountain, but for the most part his friends were kept busy.

The assassin had been captured and locked away in the dungeons, which Bofur had assured him were quite unpleasant. The other dwarves, once dispersed, had recovered from most of their battle-lust. Thorin had promised retribution for the orcs' actions, but not until they were stronger and better prepared.

It wasn't until a week after the incident that Bilbo saw Thorin again. He was just finishing up his midday meal when he walked in, determination in his stride.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, heading straight for Bilbo's cot.

"Better than before. What brings you here?"

"I wanted to see how you were faring." He crossed his arms. "And I came to tell you Balin and I are going to speak with the assassin."

"Now?" He tilted his head. "It's been over a week since you caught him, hasn't it?"

"Aye, but we thought it best to wait until he's had time to…consider his actions." His expression darkened briefly. "I wanted to ask you if there's anything you think should be said. You've been close during both attacks."

"In that case, it's probably better if I just come with you." Bilbo moved his tray of food to the side table and swung his legs over the side of the cot.

Thorin held his hands out as if to stop him. "No. It's too dangerous."

"Well, he's going to be in a cell, isn't he?"

"Yes, but you're injured." He'd stepped forward to intercept him, leaving barely any room between him and the cot where Bilbo was sitting.

"I'm healing." He indicated the sling where his arm was resting. "And I'll remind you _I_ was the one to be stabbed. I think I have a right to face the dwarf who attacked me."

Thorin remained where he was, clearly unconvinced.

A smile edged onto his face. "I'll feel a lot better knowing you'll be there to protect me." He slid off the bed and sidled away to put a little room between him and Thorin. "And that I'll be there to protect you."

His lips twitched. "You're as stubborn as any dwarf." He put a hand on his good shoulder. "Come on, then."

They set off down the long corridor.

"I would ask," Thorin said as they walked, "that you not risk yourself this time, not for my sake." He gave Bilbo a meaningful look. "If something dangerous is going to happen, tell me first."

"Fair enough." Bilbo nodded. He felt much better knowing that Thorin was aware of the dangers around him, and that he would listen to Bilbo's counsel on the matter.

Erebor was relatively quiet as they headed to the lower levels. They only passed a few dwarves on the way, and though they paid no attention to Bilbo, he thought that Thorin drew slightly closer to him in these brief moments.

Balin met them at the top of a staircase leading to what Bilbo supposed were the dungeons. He cast a concerned glance at his sling. "Are you sure you're up to this, lad?"

"If I wasn't, then I wouldn't be here." Bilbo rubbed at the spot where the sling was chafing against his neck, then pulled his collar a bit higher. "Believe me, I have no desire to confront any knife-wielding maniacs today, but this is something that must be done."

Thorin nodded to Balin, who turned and led the way down the stairs. It was a slightly narrow passage, with just enough room for two dwarves to walk side by side, if they didn't mind their shoulders brushing. The temperature dropped as they descended, and Bilbo was trying not to shiver by the time they reached the bottom.

Dori was sitting in a chair next to a thick iron door, knitting by the light of a flickering torch set on the opposite wall. He looked up as the three of them approached.

"Still quiet from this one." He gestured with a knitting needle at the door, then frowned at Bilbo. "Are you sure you should be—"

"I'm fine, thank you." It really was unpleasantly cold down here, and he wanted this to be over with as quickly as possible, and without anyone else questioning his wellbeing.

Balin took a thick black key from his coat pocket. "We'll only be a short while. Hopefully."

He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Thorin gestured for Bilbo to follow, then took up the rear.

On the other side of the door was a long hallway that disappeared into shadow. Balin took a torch from a sconce near the door and continued on. Bilbo exhaled, wondering if he would be able to see his breath, but it wasn't quite cold enough.

Thorin put a hand on his back, prompting him to continue. "It's not far from here."

They passed by several cells, enclosed by sturdy doors made of iron bars. They were clean and plain, rather like the dungeons of Thranduil's Halls, but there was an air of misery in the shadows. He wondered, with a shiver, who else had spent time in these cells.

The assassin was in one of the cells farthest from the entrance. Bilbo almost didn't see him at first, as he was sitting in the back corner with his knees drawn up to his chest. He looked up as they approached, the torchlight glinting off his eyes.

Balin stepped up to the cell door. "Farin, son of Frár, of the Iron Hills. You are accused of treason against the Line of Durin and at least one attempt of murder against the King of Erebor. You know already the punishment that is given for such crimes. However…" He put a hand on the one of the bars on the door. "This need not reflect poorly on the rest of your family. If you give us the names of your conspirators, we will ensure that the shame of your actions does not extend to your kin."

Farin straightened slightly, his jaw shifting, then spat onto the floor of the cell. "_Ushnakh_."

Bilbo sidled between the dwarves so he could get a better view of the cell. He leaned forward to get a better look at the dwarf. There were still bits of dried blood caked on his upper lip and clinging to his beard. For a moment, he felt sorry for him—until he remembered this was the dwarf that had tried to kill Thorin, and his sympathy evaporated.

"Perhaps you might tell us _why_ you tried to do what you did." He pressed a hand to his chest. "If I am to walk around with a wound that could have killed me, I would at least like to know what it was for."

Farin snorted, his lip curling. "Is that supposed to inspire some sympathy in me, halfling?"

Thorin put a hand on his good shoulder. "Bilbo…"

Balin waved him away, then turned back to Farin. "He does have a point. You knew the consequences of your actions if you were caught…and if you had succeeded." He pointed a finger at the dwarf. "You tried to murder a king to send a message. So, what was the message?"

Farin rose into a crouch. Thorin's grip tightened, as if preparing to pull Bilbo out of the way, but the dwarf stayed where he was, half in shadow.

"You'll bring your line to ruin." He let out a grating chuckle, his eyes fixed on Thorin. "You'd need no help from me for that. You would give our treasure to those thieving, spineless elves, and leave the rest of it unprotected, ready to fall into the grasping hands of those damned orcs. You are not a king, but a _coward_."

His eyes flashed, dark like flint. Bilbo felt a chill run down his spine, despite the heat of the torch.

"And what of your conspirators?" Balin asked. "We know there are other dwarves working with you. Where are they hiding?"

The dwarf spat something in Khuzdul that made Balin's eyes pinch at the corners.

"Right, then," Balin said quietly. "I think we've heard enough." He turned and led the way back down the hallway.

Once they were out of earshot, Bilbo swallowed back his fear and said, "Did you see the look in his eyes?"

"Aye," Balin replied. He did not look back. "I did."

"He's sick."

"Sick?" Thorin asked lowly.

They stopped next to the entrance. Bilbo took a moment to look at Thorin, to confirm that his gaze was clear.

"There's no need to deny it," Balin said. His mouth was set in a flat, grim line. "You've seen it before, same as I have."

Thorin's brows lowered, and he turned to Bilbo as if seeking confirmation.

"Well, the way he was talking." Bilbo fiddled with the edge of his sling. "He has the dragon sickness. And the others must have as well."

**Credit to The Dwarrow Scholar for the Khuzdul. ****_Ushnakh_**** means traitor.**

**I can't believe I couldn't have them kiss in this chapter…that was such a perfect moment, but I already have a really good scene for later on that I want to stick to. So… blue ballin' you guys once again :)**

**Anyway, I can promise this is the last of the Thorin almost-deaths for a while. I'm going to give you guys a break and then we're going to get to a new twist that I'm very excited about.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"We shouldn't make any assumptions yet," Balin said, hands clasped against his stomach. "We don't fully understand how the dragon sickness works."

"We know enough," Thorin growled. His hand, resting on the worn surface of his desk, tightened into a fist. "We know how dangerous it can be."

Bilbo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. They had moved to Thorin's study in the palace, which consisted of a desk that seemed to creak even when no one was touching it, and a bookshelf stuffed with aged papers and manuscripts.

"Are we certain there is no cure?" he asked. "No treatment, or…anything?"

"Believe me, laddie," Balin said with a grim smile, "If there was, we would have it in high supply."

Bilbo turned to Thorin. "I thought this was something that only affected your family."

"It does." A slight tremor passed through his hand. "But not only."

"Aye, a lust for gold can be found in anyone, regardless of race or lineage," Balin added.

"Well, there has to be _something_ we can do." Bilbo looked between the two dwarves. "Perhaps we can find those that are sick, and send them away from the mountain. If these plots of treason are only being carried out by dwarves with the sickness, then that might be our safest course of action."

"If we could find them, of course," Balin said grimly. "And even then, setting them free would still leave them as liabilities."

Bilbo let out a sigh and said nothing. He wasn't sure why he was the only one trying to come up with solutions—this wasn't even his job.

"Erebor is too weak to do anything significant at the moment," Balin said to Thorin. "We'll have to wait a few more months until our kin from the Blue Mountains arrive. Then we'll have more Longbeards on our side, your sister's counsel, and hopefully some better footing to proceed."

"Very well," Thorin said, though he looked no happier about their current situation than Bilbo felt. "But we should tell the rest of the Company."

"Aye, I'll see it done." Balin nodded to him and left the room.

As soon as the door swung shut, Thorin let out a bone-deep sigh and put his head in his hands, elbows resting on the desk.

Bilbo stepped forward, meaning to speak, but no words would come. It scared him a little, to see Thorin—always so strong and immovable—in such a state of despair. He wished there was more he could do, but he didn't see how his abilities could be of any use against this mysterious sickness.

"Thorin." Tentatively, he moved closer to the desk. "Can I ask you something?"

He lifted his head and sat back, his usual mask of stoicism back in place, though it was marred by weariness. "Of course."

"The day of the battle…" Absently, his fingers brushed against the worn edge of the desk. "You had a change of heart. You broke free of that sickness and led your people into battle. What was it that finally allowed you to do that?"

Thorin's gaze fell to the pile of documents in front of him, though he didn't appear to see them. "I…I heard the voice of someone very dear to me," he said softly. "Who helped me see reason again."

Bilbo searched his face, waiting for him to continue, but Thorin said nothing else. That wasn't particularly useful, more along the vague lines that a certain absent wizard might say. "Well, if it comes to it, perhaps you could ask this person for help."

"I would not put that burden on him." Something shuttered across his face, the stubborn set returning to his brow. "This is something I must face alone."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "It really isn't. We're all here to help you—"

"Bilbo, please." Thorin did not meet his eyes. "I ask that you concern yourself with your own safety first."

The words were like a burst of cold water. Thorin feared he would lose control and hurt him again. He remembered that moment well enough—the tight grip on his coat, the foreign rage in Thorin's eyes, how the cold air before the wall had swirled against the back of his neck.

Bilbo couldn't deny that he was afraid as well.

"You're still injured," Thorin said lowly, his gaze rising just enough to meet Bilbo's shoulder. "You should rest."

He recognized the words as a dismissal. And though he desperately wanted to say more, he was suddenly unsure as to where he stood with Thorin.

"All right, then." He stepped towards the door, hesitated, then left the room.

* * *

"Bilbo, have you finished with that pile yet?"

"Oh." He looked up from the book on his lap, and hastily closed it. "Uh, just about. I got a bit distracted, there."

Ori moved closer and peered over his shoulder. "What were you looking at?"

"Just a book of plants, I suppose." He opened it again and tried to find the page he'd just been on. He and Ori were in the library, sorting through the texts to take out the damaged ones. Or, at least, that's what they were supposed to be doing. Bilbo found the right page and pointed to the diagrams that had distracted him. "I've never seen half of these mushrooms before. Do they grow in Erebor?"

"I think so, but I haven't seen any yet." Ori pointed to a drawing of a mushroom with a wide cap. "It says this one glows in the dark."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. "Well, now I _have_ to go looking for them." The book was in relatively good condition, so he set it on the correct pile. "I do wish I could read some of these, though."

Ori walked around the table and took the chair across from his. "I could try and teach you some Khuzdul."

His eyes widened. "Really? Isn't that…against the rules?"

He shrugged. "Well, outsiders aren't supposed to know it, but you're not really an outsider anymore. And you're friends with the king, so I don't think you'd get into any trouble."

Bilbo smiled, though it was slightly dimmed as he thought of Thorin. He hadn't seen him for more than a few moments over the past few weeks, as he'd been busy as ever and Balin had insisted that he try and keep to the palace to avoid any more attempts on his life. They still hadn't made any progress on what to do with the sick dwarves.

"W-We could start now if you wanted," Ori said. "I'll bet I could find some books for learning."

That would, at least, be a good distraction from all the problems he couldn't solve—and perhaps Ori had intended it that way. Bilbo tried for a more genuine smile this time. "I would appreciate that."

But before Ori could rise more than a few inches out of his seat, Fíli rounded the corner into the space between two shelves were they were sitting.

"Ah, there you are. Our wizard friend is at the front gate."

Bilbo leapt out of his seat. "Gandalf is here?"

Fíli nodded. "Uncle and Balin are going to meet him now."

Ori stood up as well, and the three of them hurried out of the library.

"Are they going to let him in?" Ori asked as they walked.

"I'm not sure," Fíli replied. "Several of the dwarves are against it. We haven't even been letting the merchants from Dale inside."

"But it's _Gandalf_," Bilbo said. He could understand not wanting to let random strangers inside the gates, but this seemed a bit ridiculous. "Have they not heard of him?"

"It's possible." Fíli shot him a meaningful look. "For many of these dwarves, this is the farthest west they've ever been."

That was a good point, but not particularly reassuring. As they rounded corner and came across the entrance hall, all Bilbo could see at first was a crowd of dwarves. Almost instinctively, one hand went to rest on Sting at his belt. He'd started carrying it around as soon as he was able to draw it without any significant pain in his shoulder. He'd also started wearing his mithril vest again, and it was so light that he often forgot he had it on at all. Fortunately, his weapon wasn't entirely out of place—most of the dwarves in Erebor had begun carrying weapons with them, even things like sharpened tools and hammers from the smithy. Thorin had allowed it on the basis that they would need to respond quickly should another orc attack happen.

Fíli put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to try and disperse the crowd." He pushed his way to the front of the crowd and began speaking to them in Khuzdul.

Bilbo turned to Ori, who had stopped walking.

"I think I'll hang back," he said with a small shrug. "I don't want to be here if things turn out like they did last time."

Neither did Bilbo, but that wasn't at the top of his priorities at the moment. "I need to speak with Gandalf. I'm sure Fíli has things under control."

Ori squeezed his arm. "Be careful, all right?"

Bilbo smiled. "I will."

He slipped through the crowd of dwarves, which was gathered at the back end of the hall. He wasn't quite sure what Fíli was saying to them, but he seemed to have their attention, at least. He kept his hand near his sword as he passed.

At the other end of the hall, near the gate, stood Gandalf with Thorin and Balin. The three were speaking too lowly for him to hear across the wide space. He started across the hall towards them.

Gandalf saw him first, and his bushy gray beard lifted in a smile. "Ah, Bilbo. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, Gandalf," Bilbo said as Thorin and Balin turned to him.

Thorin had his arms crossed, wearing a scowl often present when he was disagreeing with the wizard. "We were just telling him about our current problem."

Bilbo looked up at Gandalf. "And?"

"I am afraid there is no cure or solution that I know of," the wizard said. "Dragon sickness is an insidious disease, worsened by the near two hundred years that Smaug brooded over that treasure. I do not have the power to lift this curse, or I would have done so once the mountain was first won back."

"Then we have nothing more to discuss," Thorin said, and swept away towards the back of the hall.

Bilbo shot him an exasperated glance, while Balin turned to Gandalf and said, "We appreciate your counsel nonetheless. And we apologize that we could not receive you under better circumstances."

"No matter," Gandalf replied. "I will only be here for a short time," he added with a knowing glance in Bilbo's direction.

"Uh, yes. About that." Bilbo turned to Balin. "Could we have a word?"

Balin nodded with a slight grimace. "I have a king I need to reprimand. If you'll excuse me." He turned and followed Thorin.

Gandalf gestured with his staff for Bilbo to follow him through the gate. A warm spring breeze greeted him, and Bilbo let out a small sigh of relief. In the chaos of the past few weeks, he'd quite forgotten to get some fresh air.

They stopped at the top of the stairs. Gandalf switched his staff to his other hand, the end making a small _clunk_ against the ground. "I came back to the mountain with the intention of seeing you back to the Shire. But something tells me you're not planning to leave."

"How did you…" He looked up, seeing the knowing twinkle in the wizard's eye beneath the wide brim of his hat. "Well, yes. You guessed correctly." He glanced back through the gate, into the dim interior of the hall. Most of the dwarves had dispersed by now. "Something is terribly wrong here, and I wouldn't feel right going home until I know it's resolved."

Gandalf continued to watch him closely. "You have changed, Bilbo Baggins. The dwarves of Erebor are fortunate indeed that you decided to stay."

He smiled slightly at the praise. "Well, there is something I would like to ask you about."

He took a deep breath, then explained from the beginning the tale of his strange abilities, the attempts on Thorin's life, and everything in between. Gandalf listened patiently as he spoke, and was silent for a long while after he'd finished.

"I'm really not sure what to make of it all," Bilbo said after a stretch of silence. "But I thought perhaps you would know if…if this has happened before, or perhaps _why_ this is happening at all. Any relevant information would be useful, honestly."

"Unfortunately, there are a great many things about this world that I do not know, Bilbo," Gandalf said with a sidelong glance. "And there are many strange things that happen for which there are no reason."

_Well, that's not very helpful_. Bilbo looked away. He could see now why Thorin had been frustrated earlier, though there had been no need to be rude about it.

"A word of caution, if I may." Gandalf turned to fully face him. "It seems to me that these abilities have aided you greatly in helping your friends. But I would not come to rely on them, if I were you."

"Rely on them?"

"This power may not last you the rest of your life, and it is limited besides." He sent him a meaningful look. "You have a good deal of cleverness in your own right, Bilbo. Do not forget that."

"All right. I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Gandalf."

"I think this will be good for you, Bilbo," Gandalf said. "If you can manage to make it to the end."

**I love the idea of Gandalf being wise and well-intentioned but at the same time kind of useless with his advice and also kind of a bastard. Gotta love that dude.**

**This is mostly a short, interlude chapter, just to kind of give a breather from the chaos of last chapter. There is something coming up next time that I'm very excited about, though.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It took a long while for Bilbo to realize he'd been staring at the same page for several minutes. It wasn't anything particularly interesting, either—no diagrams of mushrooms or other strange plants, just rows of Khuzdul runes. He'd been scanning the book for any damage, but it didn't appear to have any, so he put it in the correct pile with a sigh.

He was back in the library with Ori, a few days after Gandalf's visit. The wizard had headed to Dale after his brief conference with Thorin, Balin, and Bilbo, and disappeared shortly after. But it wasn't the wizard that kept distracting him from the task at hand.

No, his thoughts were consumed by the dwarf that lingered at the back of his mind more often than not. Bilbo had not seen Thorin at all since their brief encounter at the gate. But the images stayed with him—the crease in his brow that spoke of an all-consuming worry, how he had put his head in his hands and his shoulders had hunched with the weight of a burden none of them could imagine. The growing tension in his demeanor reminded him of the way Thorin had acted when they had first met, except now Bilbo was more privy to his vulnerabilities, knew more about the reasons behind them.

A large part of him worried that he was losing Thorin to this. Either the dragon sickness would cause him to withdraw, or the fear of it would, and his own failed attempt to help him the last time still stung.

There had to be _something_ he could do, some small thing he had missed that would show him the way forward, just as it had outside the hidden door to Erebor.

Massaging his brow, Bilbo looked across the table at Ori. He didn't appear to be all that focused, either—he was hunched over a piece of paper, scribbling on it with a piece of charcoal.

"What do you have there, Ori?"

Ori's head snapped up, hands instinctively going to cover his work. He was always protective of his work—during the quest, he'd always sat with his back to something whenever he wrote in his journal.

"Just a drawing." He hesitated, then moved his hands.

Bilbo leaned forward to get a better look, and Ori turned the drawing so that it was facing him. It was a sketch of one of the streets in Lake-town. A few people were walking on the wooden sidewalks on either side of the canal, where a boat laden with nets drifted. The worn planks were patchworked with snow, and small chunks of ice floated in the water.

As Bilbo looked closer, he thought for a moment that the image was moving, that he could see the water rippling with the wind, could hear the low murmur of voices and smell fish oil and tar…

"Bilbo?"

He blinked, and the paper became nothing more than a simple charcoal drawing. He sat back. "I-It's very nice work, Ori."

"It's not quite done yet," Ori muttered, pulling the drawing back across the table and continuing to add more details.

Bilbo shook his head slightly. He hadn't the slightest idea what had just happened—perhaps he was simply tired and his imagination had run wild for a moment.

The library door opened, and low voices speaking in Khuzdul reached his ears. He recognized the voices as Fíli's and Glóin's—and realized they were arguing.

Glóin spotted the two of them as he passed and came towards them, bracing his hands on the table. "Did you find those old treasury records yet?" he asked Ori.

Fíli joined him, scowling. "Thorin has forbidden anyone from going near the treasure hall, let alone touching anything inside."

Glóin turned to him, unfazed. "Aye, but we still need to do a proper inventory, get the accounts in order so we can start making payments."

"Payments for what?" Bilbo asked, frowning. "Haven't we been doing that already?"

"We've been keeping provisional records," Glóin replied. "But they only mean so much until we know the exact figure of what is stored in that hall."

"That hardly matters at the moment," Fíli said. "We both know there is enough gold in there that it will not make a difference for the next fifty years. We will have to wait until the issue of the dragon sickness is resolved before we start counting." He took a step toward the taller dwarf. "Do I make myself clear?"

Glóin held his gaze for only a moment before he said, "Aye, I understand." He gave a small bow and left the alcove.

Bilbo waited until the door had closed, then asked in a low tone, "Do you think that's…cause for concern?"

"No, I don't." Fíli crossed his arms. "Glóin is most likely just restless, eager to do something besides construction and guard duty."

"He could always help us sorting these." Ori dropped another stack of books onto the table.

"Perhaps I'll recommend it to him," Fíli said with a small smile. "I've been doing a lot of redirecting lately. Thorin has enough on his mind without having to chase people away from the treasure hall."

Well, that settled it. Bilbo pushed his chair back and stood up, and both dwarves turned to look at him.

"I'm, uh, off to do some baking," he said, and left the library.

Working in his kitchen would help him think, and he had made up his mind that he needed to do _something_. He rather thought that talking to his friend would be a good place to start.

* * *

Walking through Erebor's palace alone was more than a little intimidating, what with the high, narrow hallways that twisted and turned like the angular designs he'd seen on dwarvish clothing. Thankfully, Bilbo remembered enough from his last two visits to find his way back to Thorin's study.

He knocked on the door and shifted the basket under one arm. Inside were a batch of fresh scones, still warm from the oven, covered with a red cloth to preserve some of the heat.

After a few minutes of silence, Bilbo stepped back and frowned. It seemed Thorin wasn't in his study, but he wasn't sure where else to find him.

His saving grace came in the form of Kíli as the rounded one of the corners.

"Bilbo?" His eyes immediately fell to the basket, but all he said was, "Are you looking for Thorin? I think he's gone to his quarters." He gestured for Bilbo to follow him.

Bilbo shifted his grip on the basket and hurried to catch up with him. "H-Have I come at a bad time? I wouldn't want to disturb him."

"No, I don't think he'll mind at all," Kíli said with a knowing smile, as if the two of them shared an unspoken joke. Before Bilbo could ask about that, he glanced down at the basket again and asked, "What have you got there?"

Bilbo sighed and lifted the cloth. "You may have _one_."

Grinning, Kíli reached into the basket and pulled out a scone. He bit off half of it and hummed appreciatively. "Thish i' very goo'."

He rolled his eyes at Kíli's poor manners, even as his lips twitched. "Thank you. It's my mother's recipe. I thought it might help cheer up Thorin, a little."

Kíli said something completely unintelligible before finally swallowing. "All right, we're here." He pushed open a set of finely-carved double doors.

Bilbo followed him inside, taking care to shut the doors behind him. Inside was a cozy living area, the middle of which had been lowered a couple steps. There was a seating area around an unlit fireplace, and several doors besides the one they'd come through.

"Thorin's is the one on the right," Kíli said, pointing. He made for another door, which presumably led to his own quarters. "And if there are any leftover scones…"

"You will be the first to know." Smiling, Bilbo made his way across the room and knocked on the door.

After a moment, Thorin's voice sounded from within: "Enter."

Bilbo pushed open the door and stepped into a large room. By the door were a few couches and armchairs next to another fireplace. There was also a set of drawers and a mirror, a desk, and at the end of the room, a large, four-poster bed. Bilbo quickly looked away from the latter, feeling his face grow slightly warm.

Thorin was seated at the desk, in front of a scattering of papers and books. He turned in his chair, and his brows raised slightly. "Bilbo."

"I hope I'm not intruding. I only wanted to…well." He looked down at the basket in his hands, which suddenly seemed like a meager offering. Thorin was surely far too busy to be distracted by such things, and he still hadn't figured out what exactly he wanted to say to him.

But Thorin did not look annoyed at all as he pushed back his chair and went to join him. "What did you bring?"

He pulled back the cloth. "Scones. And I can assure you that they are not poisoned. I-I thought it might help cheer you up."

Thorin smiled, and Bilbo supposed he could count that as at least a small victory. He reached past him to shut the door. "Come. Have a seat."

Bilbo sat on one of the couches, holding the basket in his lap, while Thorin went to one of the cabinets set against the wall. He pulled out a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses, then set them on the low table by the fireplace.

"I would have brought tea, if I had known we would be drinking something," Bilbo said with a soft laugh.

"I think it's late enough in the day to indulge." Thorin poured a little into both glasses, then took a seat on the couch next to Bilbo.

"Well, you must try one of these first." He pushed the basket into Thorin's lap as he took one of the glasses. "While they're still warm."

"Very well." Thorin handed his glass to Bilbo with a prompting nod, then took one of the scones.

Bilbo took a small, careful sip, though his eyes were focused on Thorin as he brought the scone to his lips. He bit off a smaller piece than Kíli had and chewed carefully. He swallowed, and Bilbo watched the movement of his throat, and the dark hairs scattered on his skin.

"This is good," Thorin said.

Bilbo became aware of the liquor still on his tongue and swallowed. "This is, too. Very smooth." His hand was shaking slightly, and so he set the glass on his lap.

"Well, there is always more value to be found in that which is handmade." Thorin looked down at the scone as if it was a gem he had plucked from the earth.

Bilbo feared he was close to doing something _quite_ reckless, so he traded the drink for the food he had brought. Eating often helped calm his nerves. "So, what was it you were working on before I interrupted you?"

"Nothing that can't wait a few minutes." He settled back against the couch cushions. "I was reviewing some legal documents. There are some provisions that will have to be put in place, given Erebor's…current circumstances."

"I'm sure there are many details to consider," Bilbo said, his heart sinking a little as he noticed the dark cloud that passed over Thorin's face. Of course, he _had_ been the one to bring it up in the first place, but he had only wanted to change the subject, and sometimes it seemed like the only thing to talk about was Erebor.

"Indeed. But the work must be done." He reached for the other glass and downed most of its contents.

"Thorin…" Bilbo fidgeted, resisting the urge to reach out to him. "I have never felt inclined to ask much of you. But I would have you do this one thing for me, after all we've been through."

Thorin looked at him, something like apprehension filling his gaze. "What is it?"

"You must tell me what it is you need—what I can do to help you. And I don't mean running this place, I mean whatever _you_ need. I would like to consider us good friends, and I would like to think there is some way I can support you, even if it is only listening to your worries."

One side of his mouth lifted in a small smile. "My duties as king and the worries I carry are one and the same."

"And I will listen."

Thorin turned away and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, then said, "I fear for this place. I thought, wrongly, that the most difficult part of this would be slaying the dragon, reclaiming Erebor for my people. But the mountain has had more than a century to…to come undone, to decay and become corrupted by whatever curse Smaug laid upon this place. I fear there is no undoing it." His hand, resting on his knee, tightened into a fist. "I fear this mission has truly been for nothing, and all will know it before the year is over."

Bilbo let out a trembling breath, his appetite suddenly gone. He'd known Thorin was frustrated with the various challenges they'd faced since the battle, but it seemed his fears ran much deeper than that. "It cannot be for nothing. After everything we've risked and suffered, all of this cannot fail—"

"That may not be in our hands any longer." Thorin stood suddenly, and turned to face the cold, empty hearth. "Perhaps this quest was decades too late. Perhaps Erebor was lost to us the moment its gates were splintered by dragon's claws." He sucked in a sharp breath and bowed his head. "Would that Smaug had never come to the mountain in the first place."

Something in his chest grew uncomfortably tight. He knew what it was like to wish more than anything that something could be taken back, but he couldn't imagine the scale at which it was affecting Thorin. He stared at the dark patches of soot in the fireplace until he'd gathered himself.

"When I was younger, we had a terrible storm in the Shire. It snowed and snowed until most hobbits could hardly get out their door. We could not plant our crops, and our food stores slowly emptied. That was the first time I remember feeling truly hungry. And when we thought it could get no worse, orcs and wolves crossed the river and attacked."

Thorin turned to face him and waited for him to continue.

"It was terrifying, and horrible, and it seemed to last forever. And even once the snows had melted, and it was safe to come out of our homes again, the fear remained. No one was sure how we would be able to go on after all the death, how we would be able to eat a full meal and not wonder if it would be one of our last." He finally looked up at Thorin. "But you would never guess such a thing had happened, looking at the Shire now."

"No," Thorin said softly. "I didn't know…"

"It took a long while." Bilbo placed the basket on the table, then stood and took both of Thorin's hands in his. "But we were able to regrow and heal. Erebor has been lost for nearly two hundred years, and you have made a tremendous amount of progress in only a few months." He squeezed his hands. "This is not an easy path, but it is not as long as you think."

Thorin looked at him for a long moment. His face was lined with weariness, but there was a softness in his gaze that had not been there moments earlier. "I appreciate your optimism, Bilbo. But you do not know the history of my people as well as I." He released his hands and looked towards the desk. "I will hold onto this place for as long as I can. Though I do not know what will come after."

Bilbo just barely stifled an exasperated sigh. He guessed that these fears in Thorin's heart were more deep-rooted than he was letting on, and it would take time for him to turn them loose. He would just have to be patient.

"Well, I hope you will remember what I said."

"I will." Thorin turned back to him. "I appreciate your counsel, Bilbo."

"As you should." He tapped his temple. "I can see into the future, you know."

Thorin let out a low chuckle at that.

"I'll let you get back to work, now." He took a step back. "Enjoy the scones."

"Thank you, Bilbo."

Smiling, Bilbo turned and headed for the door.

A warmth lingered in his chest as he left the palace, but it gradually began to fade. For all the encouragement that he'd sought to give Thorin, a small part of him wondered if his fears were not strictly paranoia. He hadn't forgotten the tale Balin had told nearly a year ago, of the fallen dwarf kingdom of Moria and the bloody attempt to reclaim it. He didn't have many dwarf legends on his bookshelf in Bag End, but he was fairly certain none of them involved a successful reclamation of a lost kingdom.

With a sigh, he pushed open the door to his quarters and stepped inside. He was happy to lend an ear to Thorin, but he still wished there was more he could do.

He set about cleaning the kitchen to try and relieve some of his restlessness. He'd been so eager to bring the scones to Thorin that he'd completely neglected tidying up after he'd finished baking. After that was done, he figured he might as well do a bit more cleaning. It was a welcome distraction to sweep the floors and put away the clutter lying around—though there wasn't much, since he didn't have enough possessions for any space to truly be cluttered.

He took his old blue coat from where he'd slung it over the foot of the bed, then paused as something rustled within. He reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a worn piece of paper.

It was a map of Erebor, the one with the hidden runes about the secret door. Thorin had thrust it at him in frustration before they'd found a way in. He'd stuffed it in his pocket and completely forgotten about the thing during his confrontation with Smaug and all the chaos that had happened afterwards.

Carefully unfolding it, Bilbo sat on the edge of his bed. Something so old and valuable definitely needed to be kept in a better spot than an old coat pocket. He was probably better off giving it back to Thorin.

The map was remarkably well-preserved for its age. There was the Lonely Mountain, drawn in simple black ink, and nestled in its slopes on one side was the city of Dale. And coiled above the figure of the mountain, drawn in red ink, was Smaug.

The sound came to him again, the awful roar of flame erupting from the dragon's maw. Bilbo thought he could hear an echo of it now, as the little red dragon flicked its tail.

He let go of the map in shock, and it fluttered to the ground. Bilbo watched it for a moment, heart pounding, then bent to retrieve it.

_Am I going mad?_

Trying to hold the map steady, he leaned closer and focused. The dragon remained still, but just when Bilbo was beginning to think he was seeing things, its tail moved again. It slithered downwards and curled around the peak of the mountain.

He couldn't look away as a low growl filled his ears. He could hear the low rustle of trees, feel a dry, blistering wind against his cheek.

His vision began to blur, and a sudden heaviness fell upon his limbs. Gasping, Bilbo stood up, his gaze still locked onto the map. His knees buckled and he fell, but he never made contact with the floor. There was only an endless sensation of falling, and his vision began to darken as a strange pressure wrapped around his body.

The texture of the paper between his fingers faded. Bilbo blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the darkness from his vision. The pressure grew more intense, until he was gasping for air—and then let up entirely.

Bright light filled his vision, and Bilbo shut his eyes with a wince. He gradually coaxed them open again, until his vision had adjusted, and looked around.

He was no longer in his bedroom, but sitting on the edge of a side street made of sand-colored stone. The air was fresh and warm, and in the distance…

Bilbo stood on shaky legs. Towering above him was a singular peak, one he'd come to recognize as the Lonely Mountain. But its slopes were covered in _trees_.

He looked around. If the mountain was close by, that meant he was in Dale, but the stone was clean and free of cracks. A few streets over, he could hear cheery voices and music. Baskets of flowers and potted herbs filled the windowsills.

Bilbo turned back to the mountain, disbelief making him dizzy.

_Where am I?_

But he'd already answered that question—he doubted there was anywhere in the world that looked so similar to Erebor and Dale.

No, the real question was _when_ exactly he'd ended up.

**Those of you who are familiar with Life is Strange probably know where this is going next…**

**For this chapter and the next two, I really like the song Nowhere/Bloodlines, Pt. I by Sir Sly. Slightly spoilers, but whatever.**

**Also, this train of thought came up spontaneously while I was writing, but then I started to think…is Erebor the only successful reclamation in Middle-earth history? Moria was lost at this point, and so was Gundabad, I think Belegost just got repopulated, the Gray Mountains were never officially reclaimed, and a couple were just completely destroyed. As far as I know, there's really no historical precedent for what Thorin is attempting here.**

**And just as a final note: I haven't really talked about it before here but since this chapter deals with being stuck in shitty situations, I thought this was as good a time as any. I know that things have gone to shit in a lot of places, especially where I live. It's definitely been affecting me. But we gotta keep fighting the good fight, for as long as we can. I'll always be here to provide some entertainment, and hopefully a fifteen minute break from the shitstorm that is 2020. But yeah, I just thought I should say something about it. Stay strong everyone.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning for farm animal death in this chapter…sorry guys**

**Chapter 9**

Feeling slightly dizzy, Bilbo wandered out of the alley and into the street. It was full of people—merchants offering samples of food, girls in colorful clothing chattering together, a group of men in feathered caps playing a cheerful tune.

There was so much color and joy that Bilbo felt as though he'd stepped into a different world altogether. The last time he'd been in such a place had been the market in Hobbiton, days before he'd run off on a journey that had changed his life.

That had been nearly a year ago…though perhaps that wasn't so anymore.

"Hello, there! Would you like to sample some of this excellent cheese?"

He started and looked at the man who was spoken. He was wearing a fine blue tunic and his short silver beard was well-groomed. In front of him was a table laden with a few wheels of cheese, a tray with small cubes of cheese, and a cluster of shining grapes.

"O-Oh. Yes, thank you," he said, because even if this was a dream or some strange vision, he could hardly refuse an offer of free food.

He took one of the cubes and popped it into his mouth, then hummed in appreciation. It was soft, with a slightly nutty flavor, and he had no doubt it would pair wonderfully with the grapes.

"Only a silver for one wheel," the merchant said with a smile.

Bilbo would have considered it, had he not left his coin purse at home, and something told him he would not be able to retrieve it. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course." The man gestured up the street. "My shop is up on the corner, and my partner would be glad to show you more of our selection."

"I-It's not about cheese," Bilbo said with an awkward smile. "I was wondering if you could tell me what year it is."

He blinked. "The year?"

"Yes. Because…" It was an undeniably strange question to ask, and Bilbo scrambled for a plausible excuse. "Well, in the Shire, where I'm from, we use a different calendar altogether, and I haven't had the time to acquaint myself with the one used here."

That was at least partially true, though Ori had already explained the difference to him. He knew well enough that the year was 2942—or at least, it was _supposed_ to be.

The man's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, I see. You're a long way from the Shire, Master Hobbit. Well, if you're wanting to know, it's the year 2777 of the Third Age."

If Bilbo had been a year younger and familiar only with the hills of the Shire and his own warm hearth, he might have fainted then and there. As it was, he swayed on the spot, and felt quite dangerously close to fainting.

It must have shown on his face, as the man leaned closer and said, "Are you all right?"

Bilbo took a slow, grounding breath and tried to focus on the stone street beneath his feet. He had to keep his wits about him, at least for a little while longer. "Y-Yes, I'm quite all right." He took another unsteady breath. "Your cheese is quite delicious. Thank you for sharing it with me. Have a good day."

He took off down the street, not knowing quite where he was going. Eventually he found a relatively quiet side street and sat down on a wooden bench. He curled his fingers around the edge of the bench as an unpleasant lightness filled his body.

Somehow, if this merchant was to be believed (and Bilbo doubted he would lie), he had traveled more than one hundred and seventy years into the past—all because he had looked at an old map.

This was more than a little inconvenient. It was one thing to travel a few minutes backwards, where he could simply alter whatever needed to be altered and quickly reach the point from which he had departed. But it would be quite impossible for him to wait nearly two centuries to see his friends again, to see…

Something in his chest gave an unpleasant wrench, and Bilbo leapt to his feet. He hurried down the street and towards the northern edge of the city, where he would have a better view of the mountain.

The entrance to Erebor was brighter, the green stone carrying a more polished sheen. Even from a distance, he could see a row of blue banners waving in the wind.

Thorin was in that mountain—a much younger Thorin, to be sure, but it was still _him_, standing only a few hours from where Bilbo was. This was a Thorin that was untouched by the grief and loss delivered by Smaug and everything afterwards. This was a Thorin that had not known the devastation that weighed so heavily upon the dwarf he knew.

But this Thorin would not know him, would not recognize him. That thought stung worse than anything else, and Bilbo had to blink back a sudden wave of tears.

He looked away from the mountain and took several calming breaths. He did not know how to get back to his own time from here. Perhaps a good start would be the map that had gotten him into this mess, but he had little idea where to find it, or if it had even been made yet. Even if it did exist, it was probably in the possession of a dwarf king that had absolutely no reason to listen to him.

He was feeling quite light-headed, so he put his back against the wall and sank to the ground. He pressed his shaking hands against his knees. He wished, badly, that this was only a strange and very vivid dream, and he would soon wake up in his room in Erebor to find that nothing had changed at all.

"Excuse me, sir, are you all right?"

Blinking rapidly, he looked up to see a dwarf standing over him. He stuttered for a moment, trying to gather his wits. "I—um, I'm a bit lost, I suppose."

The dwarf had dark, curly hair, warm brown eyes, and smooth, high cheekbones. She was wearing a dress of rich burgundy, and had a collection of bronze beads woven through her beard. She extended a hand to him. "Come with me."

Bilbo didn't really have anything else to do in the moment, so he took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. She led him down the street to a row of two-story buildings all built next to one another. Bilbo followed her through one of the doors, up a flight of stairs, and into a cozy kitchen. The hearth was already lit, and the dwarf immediately filled a kettle and set it over the fire.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Uh, Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins." He hovered by the table, still unsure what exactly he was doing here.

"I am Vistra, daughter of Vidar." She gestured for him to sit. "You must be new here."

"I-In a way." He sat down and folded his hands on the table. "I-I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm a bit disoriented at the moment.

"There is no need to apologize," she said. "I found myself in a similar state when I first arrived in Dale. Not least because everyone here is much taller than I am." Her eyes crinkled as she smiled.

"Well, I certainly know what that's like," Bilbo said with a small smile. There was something disarming about her, and he found himself asking, "Why are you in Dale, if you don't mind me asking? I thought most of the dwarves lived in Erebor."

"They do. I was seeking an apprenticeship to a seamstress, and the best I could find was living here." The kettle began to whistle, and she stood up and made her way to the hearth. "I am fortunate to be so close to home in the meantime. In a few years, I will be able to return and start my own business."

Bilbo watched her prepare the tea and fill two cups. The process was so familiar, even a hundred and seventy years away from where he was supposed to be, and the floral scent that filled the kitchen began to calm his nerves.

"And what brings you to Dale?" Vistra brought the tea to the table and set one down in front of him. "You are a hobbit, yes?" She blushed. "Forgive me. I have never seen one before, but I have heard stories…"

"Yes, I am a hobbit," Bilbo said with a slight smile. "I suppose I am quite far from…from the Shire." He lowered his gaze and watched the curling wisps of steam rise from his cup. "I'm not quite sure yet what I'm doing here."

"Well, Dale is a place of many opportunities," Vistra said. "And there is always something that needs doing or discovering. If you have not found your purpose here yet," she added with a knowing smile, "then one will find you."

He laughed softly at that. There was certainly some truth to that idea—he could hardly deny it after the day Gandalf had first approached him outside Bag End and changed his life forever.

"Vistra, I don't mean to be rude, but why did you approach me, back there? You hardly know anything about me."

"Perhaps not." She shrugged. "But you looked as though you needed help. And I have found it often rewarding to help others."

Bilbo was surprised by the sudden, sharp ache in his chest. After only a few minutes of conversation, he knew Vistra had a good heart, and he knew that this Dale, so open and cheerful and prosperous, was wholly different from the one that he knew.

And none of them had any idea that it would all be taken away from them.

"Are you all right?" Vistra asked softly.

"Y-Yes," Bilbo said, and took a sip of his tea. The hot liquid burned his tongue a bit, and he tried to hide his wince. "I suppose I just realized something."

Clearly, he had been sent here, at this moment, for a reason. During the battle, his abilities had allowed him to save Thorin's life, but now he had a feeling he was meant to do something much bigger.

He looked up. "I need to speak to the lord of this city. Lord Girion. Do you know where I can find him?"

* * *

The city hall was quite different from how Bilbo remembered it. The square in front was no longer cracked and filled with brush. There was an angular fountain with a statue of a woman in the center, surrounded by a few small trees and rows of flowers. The columns before the entryway were polished and smooth, framing a large set of doors carved from dark wood.

"You are probably better off waiting a couple days to speak with Girion," Vistra said. "He normally hears petitions from his citizens every week or so."

"I'm afraid I don't know if I have that much time," Bilbo said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn't know what day Smaug was supposed to attack, but the thought wouldn't leave his mind that perhaps it would be today. His abilities normally gave him only a few minutes to react—maybe he would only have just enough time to make the change needed.

"What is it that is so urgent?" Vistra turned to face him, frowning.

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond, and hesitated. He wasn't sure how much he could reveal, or how much she would actually believe. "I…I fear that this city is about to be in grave danger, and I need to persuade Girion to protect it. I'm sorry I can't tell you more than that."

Vistra turned to look at the city hall, the beads in her beard jingling slightly with the movement. "I don't think the guards will let you in unless you give them a more specific reason."

Bilbo let out a small sigh. "I was hoping I could persuade them…but I don't have anything specific, no."

"Come with me." Vistra set off down the square, and Bilbo followed her. She walked along the side of the building, then to the back, and pushed open a gate. "This is where the servants come and go." She held open the gate so Bilbo could step inside. "And it looks as if it's unguarded."

The small courtyard behind the building contained a shed, a couple bins for washing, and a few lines from which several sheets were hanging to dry. A woman was straightening out one of the sheets, but she hadn't noticed them yet.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to help you further once you make it inside," Vistra said lowly. "But I wish you the best of luck."

A wave of fondness surged through him. "Thank you for everything, Vistra. And I wish you the best of luck in your trade." He reached out to shake her hand.

Vistra grinned and pulled him into an embrace. It was warm and comforting, and something about it made him miss Thorin terribly. "You are welcome, Bilbo. And you know where I live, now, so you can stop by for tea anytime."

"I will most certainly take you up on that," Bilbo said as she released him. He had no idea what was to come next if he managed to persuade Girion to follow his plan, or if he would be able to persuade him at all. But it did not feel so daunting now that he was not entirely alone.

He bid her farewell and slipped through the back door. The interior was cool, and lit by a number of tall windows. Bilbo glanced in either direction down the hallway. He was not at all sure where to go from here, or where to find Girion without asking someone and revealing himself.

Well, there was only one thing for it.

Keeping close to the wall, Bilbo crept down the hallway and turned left. He had been just as lost and twice as afraid when he'd first found his way into the Elvenking's Halls in Mirkwood, and there had been nothing to do then except search for his companions.

He guessed that Girion would likely be in his study or in some sort of meeting room—unless, of course, he was taking his midday meal or in the washroom. Bilbo wasn't even sure what the man looked or sounded like, other than the fact that he might have some slight resemblance to Bard.

Footsteps sounded from around the corner, making him stop. A sudden idea struck him. Bilbo held out his hand and concentrated. Just as a man in a fine green tunic rounded the corner, he froze mid-step. Keeping his hold, Bilbo hurried past him and ducked into an alcove and out of sight. The footsteps resumed, then faded down the hall.

With a small sigh, he continued on, peering around corners and listening through doors to gather any sort of clue that might be useful to him. This building certainly seemed much bigger on the inside.

Eventually he came to a set of double doors, one of which was slightly ajar, and sidled up to the crack. Inside was a large room, lined with tall shelves full of books. To one side was a thin, elderly man sitting at a desk, bent over a stack of papers.

The room rather resembled the main one in the town hall in Lake-town, and it seemed as good a start as any. If this was not the right place, he could simply go back in time and try somewhere else.

Bilbo steeled himself and pushed open the door.

The man looked up with a sharp glance, and frowned at him. "What are you doing here?"

Bilbo only barely stopped himself from stammering. If he was to succeed, he would need to be confident in his words. He thought of Thorin and his commanding presence, of the way Fíli had dispersed the crowd of dwarves with only a few words—and, strangely, the way his cousin Lobelia had always been able to bargain down the price of fabric at the market.

He marched up to the desk. "Good day, sir. I am here to speak to Lord Girion."

The man narrowed his eyes and looked him up and down. "And who are you, exactly? How did you get in here?"

"My name is Bilbo Baggins. I am from the Shire, to the west, and Thain Fortinbras Took has sent me here to speak with the lord of the city about an important matter." He leaned closer. "As for how I got in here, your guards were quite unhelpful in giving me directions as to where I might find him, and I have been wandering these halls in search of someone who might help me. Now, I don't wish to waste any more of my time, and I'm sure you are quite busy as well, so if you could tell me where and when I might speak to Lord Girion, I'm sure that would be best for the both of us."

The man's eyebrows had climbed increasingly higher on his face as Bilbo spoke. He stared at him for a long moment after he was done, in which Bilbo was acutely aware of the pounding of his heart.

Just as he was beginning to consider starting this conversation over, the man stood and said, "Wait here."

He proceeded to the other end of the room and pushed open a door to the right. Bilbo could hear a low conversation on the other side, though he couldn't make out anything of what was being said.

After a moment, the man stepped out of the room and motioned for him to come forward. Bilbo walked the length of the room, scarcely daring to believe his ruse had worked. He kept his chin up as he stepped through the door.

Inside was a small study, filled with more bookshelves on either side. Sitting at the large desk in the center of the room was a man that appeared, undoubtedly, to be Girion.

His resemblance to Bard was striking. There was more gray in his hair, his nose was wider, and his face fuller, but otherwise he could have been the man's brother.

"Welcome to Dale, Master Halfling." Girion motioned for him to sit on the other side of the desk as the other man closed the door to the study. He had a small smile on his face, as if he was waiting for the punchline of a joke.

"Thank you." Bilbo hoisted himself into the chair. "I've found your city to be quite pleasant. I appreciate you for taking the time to speak with me."

"I'll admit, I've never met a halfling before." Girion leaned back in his chair. "I've only heard stories. What brings you so far from your homeland?"

"Well, firstly, I am a hobbit. I'm not half of anything. And secondly, I'm afraid I come bearing bad news."

The smile slowly slid from his face. "And what is this bad news?"

Bilbo swallowed. He couldn't lose his nerve now. "Your city is about to be under attack."

Girion's eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"

"I-I came to warn you, because I do not wish to see your people come to harm."

"And from whom should I expect this attack?"

"A dragon." Bilbo swallowed. "From the north."

Girion went still. "How do you know of this?"

"I…" Bilbo kept himself from shifting in his seat. He would need to tell this lie with the utmost sincerity. "I'm not sure if the stories you've heard have mentioned this, but many hobbits have the gift of foresight." He held the man's gaze. It wasn't a very conventional reason, but he thought it might be more believable than claiming he could somehow travel through time. "I have seen that in the near future, your city will be destroyed by a dragon."

"So you are…what? A seer? A prophet?"

"I am just someone who wants to help," Bilbo said, only barely reining in his impatience. "I have no desire to any suffering come upon your people, and I would do whatever I can to prevent it."

Girion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "We are well prepared for a dragon attack, if that day should come. My smiths have fashioned a weapon capable of piercing its hide—"

"The windlance, yes, I know. It won't be enough. The dragon is swift, and very difficult to strike while it's in the air."

"So, what do you suggest?" he asked with a frown.

Bilbo let out a short sigh. He didn't know how Bard had managed to finally kill the dragon, but he had witnessed Thorin's attempts to kill the beast. "A dragon's weakness is its desire for gold. If you were to…to put out an offering, something to distract it when it finally arrives, you may have a better chance at killing it."

His lips curled into a humorless smile. "You are suggesting I move a portion of the city's treasury outside the walls? That seems incredibly convenient for anyone who might wish to steal from me."

"Yes, but that is not my intention!" His voice was raised, but Bilbo could not bring himself to lower it. "I do not care about one ounce of the gold you have in your treasury. I am trying to tell you that you are woefully unprepared for this attack, and that you must try and prevent it at any cost." He drew himself up to his full height. "If this dragon succeeds in destroying Dale, naturally it will attack Erebor next. Both kingdoms will fall, and this place will turn into a wasteland for the next two centuries. Your line will remain strong, but your people will go hungry for generations. All I want is to prevent that, and I believe you want the same."

Girion looked at him for a long moment, his brows low. Bilbo had spent enough time around Thorin to know that the responsibility of his people was weighing heavily on him at the moment.

"You are right," he said. "I will do whatever is necessary to protect my people. But you are asking me to take a gamble that many of my councillors will not deem reasonable. I only have your word that this dragon is coming, and you are a stranger in these lands." He sat up in his chair. "Here is what I will do. I will send my swiftest scouts north to search for this dragon. If they find evidence of your claim, I will move my people to safety and set out an offering to distract the beast when it arrives."

Bilbo's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you. I am sure you won't regret this."

"For your sake, I should not." He stood up. "I will assign two guards to watch over you. If this turns out to be a trick, you _will_ answer for it."

* * *

Bilbo was given a room in an inn across from the city hall to wait while scouts were sent out to look for the dragon. It certainly wasn't a disagreeable accommodation—he had a comfortable bed to sleep in, and the open window let sunlight and the scent of flowers filter inside. A woman brought him a meat pie for dinner, with bread so warm it was still steaming when he broke it.

Yet Bilbo found it difficult to get even a wink of sleep that night. He didn't know for certain if the scouts would arrive with any affirmative news, and even if they did, there was no guarantee they would be able to kill the dragon. He wondered what Thorin would have done in this situation, and if there was some sort of strategy he'd overlooked.

He wondered what Thorin was doing at this very moment. Most likely he was sleeping—Bilbo doubted he would be staying up late working. Surely there would be less pressure on him as a young prince, with both his father and grandfather to manage the affairs of the kingdom. Perhaps he smiled more easily, had a demeanor more similar to Fíli and Kíli, though there was a stoicism in his nature that Bilbo suspected had always been there.

If his plan succeeded, and both Dale and Erebor were saved from the dragon's wrath, then the course of history would be changed. There would be no need for a quest to reclaim Erebor, which meant that Gandalf would never approach Bag End in search of a burglar. His and Thorin's paths would likely never cross.

The thought brought an overwhelming ache to his chest. Bilbo closed his eyes before tears could seep onto his pillow. He couldn't abandon this course now. If Thorin could live his life free of hardship and loss, if all the pain caused by Smaug and Azanulbizar and everything in between could be erased, then he would give up their friendship.

He would do this for him.

It was a long while before Bilbo found sleep, and a knock at the door that startled him awake the next morning.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he got out of bed and nearly fell, not used to the man-sized height of the frame. Grumbling to himself, he crossed the room and opened the door.

One of the soldiers assigned to him was standing on the other side. As far as Bilbo knew, at least one of them had been standing outside his door this whole time to prevent any attempts of escape. He looked young, probably only a few years past his majority.

"Lord Girion wishes to speak with you."

"All right." Bilbo ran a hand through his curls to give them some semblance of order. He glanced back at the room, then remembered he had nothing to take with him.

As they left the inn, Bilbo realized most of the people were in the streets, all walking in the same direction with small bags or baskets with them.

He turned to the soldier with him. "What's going on?"

"All the women and children are being moved to the tunnels beneath the city," he replied. "Scouts arrived early this morning with signs of a dragon hunting farther north. We have reason to believe it may strike here next."

Bilbo let out a small sigh of relief. This turn of events wasn't particularly _good_, but at least he hadn't been wrong about his information.

Girion was standing in one of the squares with another group of soldiers. He finished issuing orders, and they hurried off down one of the streets.

"It seems your prediction was correct," he said when he spotted Bilbo. His expression was grim, making his resemblance to Bard all the clearer.

"I wish it was not so," Bilbo said. "But I'm glad to see you've been making preparations."

"We began as soon as the scouts returned." Girion dismissed the soldier escorting him with a wave. "We'll have the city secure within the hour. Is there anything more I should know?"

"You're going to kill the dragon with the windlance, yes?" Bilbo fell into step next to Girion as he started walking.

"It's the best weapon we have at our disposal. It's being moved to the west wall now." As they drew closer, he indicated the place where four men were readying the weapon.

"I suppose this is where you've set up the offering." Bilbo looked out at the land outside the walls. He still wasn't used to seeing bright grass and trees where he had only seen barren stone before. He reached the wall and peered over it to get a better look. "Y-You've put animals out there?"

About two hundred feet from the wall, tied to a post, were four goats. Next to them was a wagon filled with shining metal.

"My scouts found the charred bones of several animals to the north," Girion said. "Even dragons need to eat." When Bilbo continued to frown, he added, "All four of those goats are sick. They have no use to the farmers and will die soon regardless."

It still didn't sit well with him, but Bilbo moved on. "And the metal? I'm rather surprised you would leave out so much gold."

"It's brass, not gold. It looks similar enough, and I won't risk the dragon flying off with half the city's treasury."

"And what if the dragon is able to tell the difference?"

"Our aim is to distract the beast, as you suggested. Hopefully by the time it uncovers our ruse, it will already have a black arrow in its heart." Girion turned to the group working on the windlance. "Is it ready?"

"It is, my lord," one of the men replied.

Girion turned back to Bilbo. "Someone can escort you to the tunnels—"

"N-No," Bilbo said. "I want to stay. I am no warrior, but I was the one to warn you about this in the first place. I feel that I must see it through to the end."

Something like a smile twitched beneath his beard. "Very well. I only ask that you stay out of the way of my men."

Dutifully, Bilbo stepped back as the soldiers began to take their positions. Several archers lined up along the wall, testing their bowstrings and making sure their arrows were free in their quivers. Girion loaded a black arrow into the windlance and stood ready to fire.

A deathly quiet fell over the city, not unlike the silence that had greeted him when he had first passed through the ruins of Dale. Even the wind had died.

Bilbo looked toward the peak of the Lonely Mountain, the only thing he could see from his current position. He didn't know if the dwarves had been told about what was about to happen. But there were thousands of lives in that mountain that had been ended by Smaug's wrath. No matter what happened today, he had to ensure that they were saved.

The men in the street began shifting their spears and looking around. Bilbo was dreading the moment when Smaug would finally arrive, and he was sure the others were, but the worst part was waiting and not knowing. It was possible Smaug would not even arrive today, and then they would all look slightly foolish.

It was another hour of waiting before the wind picked up again. It started as a warm breeze, then grew stronger until dry, hot gusts were howling against the stone. A chorus of low horn blasts sounded from the center of the city, and all the soldiers stood at attention.

In the distance, a crackling bellow sounded. It was a strange noise, but terribly familiar to Bilbo. With his heart pounding in his chest, he ran to the wall so that he might get a better look.

A large swath of the mountain slope had caught fire, and smoke was rising from the blackened, scar-like patch of burnt trees. But Bilbo was more concerned with the dark shape gliding towards the city.

"The dragon!"

A panicked ripple went through the soldiers. A few raised their bows to take aim.

"Hold your ground!" Girion shouted, swiveling the windlance to face the dragon.

Smaug veered right as he neared the city, towards the east, and his bulk disappeared behind the rooftops. That same awful sound pierced the air, and smoke began to rise from the buildings. The men shouted, their voices rising over Girion's, and a moment later, the shadow of the dragon was upon them, preceded by a blast of white-hot flame.

The fire cut through the streets not two blocks from where Bilbo was standing. The men near the wall scrambled away, but several were caught by the fire. A chorus of screams filled the air, only to be cut off a second later.

Breathing hard, Bilbo backed away until his back hit the wall of the nearest building. This was what Smaug had done to Lake-town—he had left long swaths of flame across the town, like strips of crust on top of a pie, until the whole thing had been engulfed.

Perhaps Smaug would not notice their offering, or would not care to investigate. Perhaps they were all doomed anyway.

Almost unconsciously, one hand slipped into his pocket, fumbling for the little ring that had saved his life during his first encounter with the dragon. Bilbo let out a shaky breath and checked his other pocket, but it was nowhere to be found.

Smaug had reached the outer slopes of the mountain, and began circling back towards them.

"Draw!" Girion shouted.

The soldiers' panic had subsided for now, and they drew back their arrows and aimed at the dragon. Bilbo scarcely dared to breathe as the dragon drew closer, and opened his jaws again.

He tilted its wings back, halting his advance. The force of the wind was enough to uproot several trees, and even the grass was torn from the earth. The dragon flapped his wings a couple times, then settled onto the ground, the wagon and goats shadowed beneath its bulk.

"What is this?" Even from a distance, Smaug's growling voice carried easily to the wall. "Did you hope to appease me with petty gifts?"

Despite his disdain, he bent his long neck and inspected the wagon, nostrils flaring slightly. The goats bleated and strained against their post.

Smaug's head shot up, eyes rounded in anger. "_You thought you could deceive me?_"

One claw swept across the grass. The wagon splintered, its contents scattering across the grass. The goats tumbled with it, leaving dark red smears on the ground.

"Your pathetic tricks will not save you." Eyes blazing, Smaug advanced on the wall. "I will raze your pathetic city to ash, and I will claim what is truly mine. You have no hope—"

"Oh, enough of this," Girion said, and fired.

The black arrow whistled though the air and struck the joint between the dragon's wing and body. Smaug roared in outrage and launched himself into the air, but his left wing faltered and threw him off balance.

"Another!" Girion cried, and a soldier placed a second black arrow in the windlance.

Smaug bent low, but Girion held back for another moment, steadily lowering the windlance. With a serpentine snarl, the dragon lunged for the wall. Girion fired again, and the arrow pierced the dragon's neck.

To Bilbo's horror, Smaug kept coming, limping towards them with enough force to shake the ground.

"_Your city will burn!_" The dragon's jaws opened, and blinding heat glowed within, building into a column of flame.

A spurt of black blood splashed onto his teeth, hissing as it met fire. Smaug roared again, but it turned into a sputtering groan as more blood gushed from his throat. Still, he staggered closer to the city.

"Get back!" Girion yelled. "Get back from the wall!"

The soldiers scrambled backwards, into the street, and Bilbo narrowly avoided being stepped on by one.

A deafening _crack_ sounded as Smaug's claws swiped at the wall. The stone crumbled, groaning beneath the brutal force, and a good portion of the wall fell away. Smaug gave one final hiss, and his bulk hit the ground with a resounding _thud_.

For a long moment, there was only the soft patter of dust hitting the ground and the heavy breathing of the soldiers. Bilbo felt incredibly light-headed, and sat down on a box.

"Is…Is it dead?" one of the soldiers asked quietly.

Girion brushed some debris from his pauldrons. The windlance had fallen with the dragon's final onslaught, but it seemed no one had been harmed. "Come on. And watch your step."

The soldiers filed towards a guard tower a little ways down the wall. Bilbo forced himself to his feet and followed them. Just inside the small building was a narrow staircase, spiraling downwards. It was dark inside, enough that Bilbo almost lost his footing more than once. By some miracle he made it to the bottom, and walked through a doorway that opened up at the base of the wall.

Several soldiers were already crowded around the dragon. Smaug was slumped against the stone, unmoving with his neck lying limp on the rocks. A few feet away lay the mangled shape of the windlance. One of the soldiers stepped forward and prodded the dragon's massive chest with his spear.

"It must be," a soldier said, as if in a daze. "It must be."

They waited for another full minute, but the dragon did not move.

All at once, a cheer went up from the soldiers. One of them sprinted up the stairs, probably to alert the rest of the city. Girion looked back at Bilbo and gave him a grateful nod.

Bilbo returned the gesture, though he was starting to feel quite dizzy. He found a relatively flat rock and lowered himself onto it.

He hadn't felt this ill the last time he'd faced down the dragon, though there had been more running and adrenaline involved the first time.

A familiar darkness began to settle over his vision, and Bilbo realized he was not simply in shock. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had fulfilled his task, and now it seemed he was returning to his time—whatever this new future held.

**Footnotes:**

**1\. ****It makes me kind of sad watching those scenes in AUJ and seeing all those happy people, and knowing that it all went to shit because of a random disaster that was nobody's fault. But hey, now Bilbo has a chance to change all that! So next chapter we'll see exactly what this new future looks like…**

**2\. ****My explanation for why the ring is gone is that Bilbo wasn't able to bring physical items back in time with him, like the map, and also that bringing the ring backwards would technically create two in that point in time, which I feel is not allowed because it's such a powerful object. I'm also just sick of the thing and time travel is cooler than invisibility anyway.**

**3\. ****Fun fact: in The Witcher series a group of peasants deal with a dragon by stuffing a dead goat with poison and when the dragon eats the goat it gets sick and dies (I think) Anyway, the point is peasant problems require peasant solutions and this definitely would have been a smarter way to kill Smaug. But in this case, I like to think Smaug's biggest weakness is just not being able to shut the fuck up.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

When Bilbo opened his eyes, he was not in his bedroom in Erebor. Though he supposed it was not _his_ bedroom anymore, and technically had never been.

He was seated against a wall in a small side street in Dale, much as he had been when he had first arrived in the past.

He stood up and looked around. The land around the city was healthy, the stone clean and free of weathering. Feeling strangely detached, as though he was only watching himself move, Bilbo walked into one of the main streets. A wagon passed by, filled with boxes and barrels. There were people laughing and talking in doorways and stalls. Two children ran past, holding the string to a kite.

Bilbo's feet carried him to the north wall. The gate to Erebor looked just as strong and solemn as ever, unmarred by ash or claw marks. There was a dark patch on the outer slopes were the trees had caught fire, but there was lush greenery everywhere else.

Bilbo closed his eyes and tried not to cry.

This was _good_. The people of Dale and Erebor were happy and safe. Prosperity had never left this land. His friends were most likely safe and happy.

But he did not know what to do next. The dwarves he cared so much for had never formed a Company, had never visited Bag End, and therefore would not know him.

The only place he could think to go was the Shire, but that was hardly appealing. Even if he could make the journey alone, he could not imagine settling down into his old life and simply forgetting everything that had happened.

And if he had never gone on a quest now, did…did that mean that he was still in Bag End? If he went back to the Shire, would it be just to find another version of himself living in his home?

Trying to steady his breathing, Bilbo sat down on a low ledge. He would have given anything to talk to a friend right now—to Thorin, or Gandalf, or even Vistra. A sudden hope made him raise his head, but he paused. If Vistra had succeeded in her apprenticeship, she was probably long gone from the city.

He felt adrift, and more terrifyingly alone than he had during those weeks in Thranduil's Halls, when he'd been separated from the Company. At least then there had been friends to make his way back to.

And so he stayed where he was, sitting hunched on the ledge as the sun began to sink and the streets cleared. His stomach grumbled, but he did not have the coin to buy himself a meal or a room to stay in.

His thoughts began to wander to his Took cousins, and the stories he'd heard of their adventures beyond the borders of the Shire. Surely many of them had set out alone, with no companions but a desire to see the world nonetheless. Perhaps he could go back to Rivendell, or find Gandalf, and set a new path for himself. He had nothing but time to decide what to do next.

Feeling a bit steadier, Bilbo stood up. Though it didn't sit well with him, he would have to find some way to steal some supplies (and become a burglar once again, even in this strange new time) and head west. He did not want to look at the painful shape of the Lonely Mountain any longer than he had to.

"Oi! What are you doing out here?"

Bilbo started and turned around. Two soldiers were making their way towards him—two dwarf soldiers, he notes with surprise.

The one who had spoken stepped closer, towering over him with a glare. "What business do you have being out past curfew?"

Stammering, Bilbo glanced around. He noticed for the first time that the streets were completely empty—there were no loiterers, no one passing to and from the taverns. "I-I didn't know there was a curfew."

"Now, that sounds like boarshit to me." The dwarf took his arm in a painful grip. "Where are your papers, eh?"

He tried in vain to pull his arm away. "Papers?"

"Sigurd! There you are!"

Bilbo turned as a young woman rushed towards them. She put a hand on his shoulder and smiled stiffly at the dwarves.

"Forgive me. My cousin's a bit slow in the head. I won't let him get out again, I promise."

The dwarf narrowed his eyes, then released his hold. Bilbo rubbed the sore spot on his arm.

"Come on." The woman grabbed his wrist, her grip not much gentler. "You know you're not supposed to be out at this time of night." She began pulling him away, with one last apprehensive glance at the dwarves.

Bilbo followed silently as she led him into one of the buildings down the street. He was quite sure that this woman was _not_ his cousin, but she must have told the lie for a reason.

They entered a small, dimly lit kitchen with a dining table pushed against one wall. The woman shut the door, locked it, and turned to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I-I…" Bilbo shook his head. "I haven't quite figured that out yet." He glanced at the door. "What were those dwarves doing out there? And why did you say I was your cousin?"

The woman narrowed her eyes. She was short, but solidly built, and her dark hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder. "I risked my hide to save yours, and I'd like to know there was a good reason for it. How is it that no one told you about the curfew?"

Bilbo let out a small, indignant laugh. "Well, I only just got here. I haven't spoken to anyone since I arrived."

The suspicion did not leave her face. "No one is allowed in or out of this city without the permission of Erebor. You must have received papers from the guards when you first arrived."

He blinked, his mind reeling. "W-What do you mean? What does Erebor have to do with this?" He found a low stool by the unlit fireplace and sat down. "Please forgive me. I am sorry that you put yourself at risk for my sake. But I am afraid I have very little knowledge about what is going on here. I-I arrived through rather unconventional means, and if you could just explain…" His voice wavered.

The woman looked him over, her expression softening a fraction, then pulled out one of the chairs from the dining table and turned it so it was facing him. She sat down and rested her elbows on her knees.

"I'm sure you've seen the mountain nearby. There are dwarves living within, in a kingdom called Erebor. The lord of Dale answers to their king. The dwarves run our trade, choose our officials…" She scowled at the door. "And lately, decide when we can leave our homes."

"Why?" Bilbo whispered, his heart thundering in his chest.

"The elves have been threatening war." Her expression darkened further. "Some trade dispute or something like that. The dwarves aren't sure which side we'll take if they were to march on the mountain, so it's been hard to so much as blow your nose in secret."

"N-No." Bilbo glanced at the floor, feeling the beginnings of a headache in his temple. "I mean, why does the lord of Dale answer to Erebor? I thought this was an independent city."

She laughed drily. "It hasn't been that way for generations. A long time ago, a dragon attacked this city. Our lord at the time, Girion, managed to kill the beast. He demanded payment from Erebor for damages done to the city, claimed the dragon would have destroyed the mountain had he not killed it, but the dwarves refused. It escalated into a battle, and the dwarves prevailed. Things have been like this ever since." One hand balled into a fist. "None of us here were alive for what happened back then, but we're still paying for it."

Bilbo gripped the edge of the stool to control his trembling. This was all wrong. This was _his_ fault. He'd thought killing Smaug would rid this land of desolation and greed, but he'd forgotten that the seeds had already been planted. Thrór had already been sick before the dragon came.

"I'm not sure why you came here in the first place, but I recommend leaving as soon as possible." The woman stood and went to check the shutters at the front of the building. "You won't want to be here for what's coming next."

* * *

"There's a tunnel in the south end of the city. It'll take you through the sewers and to the bottom of the wall. Not the most pleasant route, but it's the only way to get out of the city without being seen."

The woman, who had introduced herself as Astrid, had gone upstairs for a while. Bilbo had caught sounds of something heavy being moved across the floor, but he'd been too focused on not being sick to really wonder about it. After a few minutes, she'd come back with a knife in hand, which she tucked into the folds of her shawl.

Astrid returned to her seat at the dining room table and glanced at the front door for the dozenth time that night. "It's dark enough that you should be able to avoid the guards. Things are going to get dangerous tonight."

Bilbo didn't have the courage to ask her what that meant. "I don't…I don't have anywhere else to go."

Astrid narrowed her eyes. "You still haven't told me what you're meant to be doing here."

Before he could respond, a low knock sounded at the door. Astrid leapt to her feet and peered through the dirty window, then opened the door. A young man pushed his way inside, breathing hard.

"Ric, where on earth have you been?" she snapped, closing the door with contradictory gentleness.

"They've found us out." Ric turned to her. In the dim light, Bilbo could see a trickle of blood running from his split lip, and a darkening bruise on his jaw. "We'll have to move quickly."

Bilbo pushed himself up. "W-What's going on?"

Ric looked down at him and made a face. "Who's this?"

Astrid sighed and shook her head. "Did you manage to get the—"

The three of them froze as the low toll of a bell began to sound from somewhere in the city. It continued to ring, and Astrid and Ric exchanged a heavy glance.

Astrid turned to Bilbo. "You've lost your chance, now. Just try to keep your head down."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Ric muttered as the two of them headed for the door.

Bilbo had no choice but to follow. As he stepped outside, he saw more people streaming out of their houses, wrapped in coats and shawls and blinking with heavy lids. A couple of dwarves were moving along the street, knocking on doors and growling at people to move along. Everyone began to file down the street towards the same place, but he doubted they were being led to the safety of the tunnels. He had a feeling something terrible was going to happen.

The crowd was quiet as they moved down the street, their steps lit only by a few scattered lanterns and braziers. There was no moon overhead tonight. Bilbo didn't know what time it was, but he was sure it was quite late.

At some point, he lost sight of Astrid and Ric, but he wrapped his arms around himself and kept moving with the rest of the people. Eventually they began to stop, and he realized they were close to the town square.

His heart was pounding so hard it was almost painful, but he ducked and weaved his way through the crowd until he was in the square. The area was lit up by four large braziers, and he could hear low voices talking in Khuzdul.

Bilbo neared the front of the throng and peered around a stack of barrels. The crowd had given the group in the center of the square a wide berth, and it seemed as though they were waiting for one of them to speak. There were about a dozen dwarf soldiers, a handful of whom were holding large sacks, and standing in front—

His breath caught in his throat, and his heartbeat stuttered in his chest.

Thorin was there.

He looked about the same as when Bilbo had seen him last, but there was a long scar running from his temple down across his jaw, creating a small gap in his long beard. He was wearing a golden suit of armor, the same one he had donned in the days before the battle.

Thorin reached back to take hold of one of the sacks, then tossed it to the center of the courtyard. A collection of wood and metal spilled out—a board with nails stuck through it, a handful of kitchen knives, a crude wooden bow.

"Weapons," Thorin said, and Bilbo shivered at the low threat in his voice. "Found in a storeroom on the eastern side of the city. We were able to seize the whole of the stash…" His eyes swept the crowd. "But the culprits escaped."

Bilbo shrank backwards and swallowed hard. This was not his Thorin. His gaze was too cold, glimmering with a rage that had only ever been there while he'd been sick.

"Plots of treason," Thorin spat, "after everything we have done for this miserable city. With war on the horizon, do you still think you deserve our protection?" His voice rose to a shout.

The men and women gathered in the square remained silent, impassive, but only a few dared to look directly at Thorin. Bilbo thought about how he'd stood in front of these people in a different lifetime and promised them riches and salvation. And now here he was, threatening their lives.

Thorin stepped forward, sparing a contemptuous glance towards the makeshift weapons. "If you wish to earn our forgiveness, you will turn over those who conspired against us." He looked around, dark eyes searching the crowd.

Bilbo looked around for Astrid and Ric, but he couldn't see either of them. Had they been part of this group?

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched over the square. The crowd shifted, but none came forward, and no one spoke.

Thorin sighed and turned away, walking back towards the other dwarves. "Very well. If none of you will speak, then I am forced to consider all of you complicit in this plot. And every conspirator will be punished accordingly." He nodded to one of the guards.

The dwarf walked toward the closest part of the crowd and reached within. He took a man by the arm and pulled him away from the others. A woman screamed, and another man tried in vain to pull him back. The dwarf dragged the man to the middle of the square and hefted his axe.

"Stop!" someone cried, and Bilbo realized that it had been himself. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running into the square, taking care not to step on any of the discarded weapons. "Stop! You must stop this!"

The dwarf with the axe paused. Another guard started towards him, but Thorin held up a hand, halting his advance.

Bilbo was shaking so badly he could barely stand straight, but he fought to keep his composure. He couldn't stand to watch any more of this. "Please don't do this, Thorin. This isn't you."

Thorin's face twisted into a sneer as he stepped forward. "What do you know of me?"

"I know that you can be good." Despite his fear, Bilbo moved closer. Some desperate instinct was driving him forward, pushing him to do whatever he could to bring Thorin back from this. He had failed the last time, even with the friendship that had existed between them, but he still had to try. "I know that there is kindness in you, and courage, and selflessness." He was almost close enough to touch him, now. "I know that you can choose a different path from the one you are on right now."

Thorin watched him with cold contempt. "You…" he said lowly. "You know nothing of me, halfling." He reached out, his fingers closing around the front of Bilbo's tunic. Terror shot through him, and Bilbo gasped, his hands instinctively wrapping around the cool metal of Thorin's gauntlet.

Something hissed through the air, just barely missing Thorin's face, and struck the ground. They both turned to see an arrow bounce of the stone.

Thorin turned in the direction the arrow had been fired, rage filling his eyes, and a roar went up from the crowd. All at once, the men and women converged on them, some stopping to pick up the discarded weapons. Thorin let go of Bilbo so he could draw his sword.

"_Du bekar!_"

Bilbo fell flat on his back with a grunt, and immediately scrambled back. Someone stepped on his hand, and he hissed in pain.

His limbs seemed to move of their own volition. Bilbo pushed himself to his feet and stumbled through the advancing crowd. He was jostled and pushed several times, and more than once fell to his knees, but he continued on, almost blindly, until he was back in the street, where it was less crowded. He took the first turn he saw and ran until a sob bent him double.

Bilbo fell to his knees, only his hands keeping him from collapsing entirely. He clapped one hand over his mouth to stifle another sob. Somewhere in the city he could hear echoing shouts and a series of crashes, but it sounded very far away, and distant beneath the ringing in his ears.

This was wrong. This was all _wrong_. He had finally seen Thorin's face after days of longing for him, but it had been nothing more than a monster made of greed and cruelty wearing him as a mask. There had been no warmth, no joy, no sincerity.

And there was no peace to be found here. There were no orcs to unite them. However many lives he'd saved from Smaug's wrath, they were still facing fear and war.

Drying his cheeks, Bilbo pushed himself up and started walking. Astrid had been right—he needed to get out of Dale as soon as possible. And he had no intention of looking back.

The small side street where he'd ended up led to a dead end. There was a tiny courtyard with a small fountain and a few beds of flowers.

At the far end, a mosaic of colored stone took up most of the wall. Bilbo walked closer and squinted at it in the dim light. On one side was the city, standing tall and outlined in red. To the left was a depiction of Smaug, a spout of orange flame curling from his jaws.

_What have I done?_

Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he brushed it away. All of this—the violence and the terror—it was his fault. There was no denying that.

Something clattered to the ground. Bilbo stepped closer and bent down. It was a small piece of red stone. He glanced up, and found an empty spot in the mosaic.

Another piece of stone fell from the wall, then another. Bilbo stepped back as they began to fall like leaves from a tree. Part of a guard tower disappeared, then a piece of Smaug's tail.

Something like rage drove him forward again. He reached into one of the gaps and pulled at another part of the mosaic. It resisted his efforts for a moment, then broke loose.

More stones began to pile at his feet. Breathing hard, Bilbo scraped them off with both hands, until his fingers were sore and his arms ached, and darkness descended over the courtyard.

* * *

When Bilbo woke for the third time, it was to sunshine and the smell of flowers. He was still in Dale, but no longer in the present.

He pushed himself up. His fingers felt sore, his limbs heavy. He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious—or if any time at all had really passed, if he'd been moving backwards.

Feeling dazed, he walked down the side street and onto the main road. He walked past the cheese merchant and the musicians and the children playing in the street. He walked into a small square, where more merchants were selling toys and jewelry. In the center was a strange contraption, wooden horses moving in a circle, with laughing children on their backs.

Bilbo watched all of it, feeling more than ever that he was from a different time. All of this joy was real and tangible, and he still had to say goodbye. He felt as though he could not touch it.

_It can be like this again_. After the dragon was dead, people would return to Dale and rebuild. With Erebor's help, they would be able to prosper again.

It was a thin, flimsy comfort, but he held onto it desperately as the hours slipped away. Once the sun neared the horizon, Bilbo stood and made his way to the east gate. He walked out and across the field outside, past unfamiliar trees and bushes.

It was a long, arduous climb up the eastern slopes, but the exertion helped take his mind off things somewhat. Bilbo found a relatively sheltered place to wait and settled down for the night.

He didn't sleep. He sat against a tree, shivering, and watched the lights in Dale wink out one by one. He did not look at Erebor.

Sometime after the sun rose the next day, he dozed off. He woke with a start, and felt a hot breeze on his face.

A minute later, the screams started.

Bilbo looked up and watched as the main road of Dale went up in flames. He squeezed his eyes shut, clamping both hands over his ears to try and block out the noise. But the screams remained, as did the rushing of fire, and the ragged sound of his own sobs.

**Ohhh I do not like writing dark!Thorin. That shit was so hard to write. That's reason enough for me to revert the timeline to the original lol**

**I know it's kind of schlocky to have the hero go back in time, change things, and then arrive to some kind of post-apocalyptic authoritarian regime. I'm not trying to say that Smaug destroying everything was good or necessary, or that all these people needed to suffer for something good to come out of it, but I feel like it takes a certain humility to manage that much wealth, and at that point both Dale and Erebor's leadership lacked that. idk…I hope this chapter wasn't out of touch or anything, this just seemed the best direction to take the plot.**

**I know Bilbo had a rough go of it this chapter, but I promise things will be looking up for him soon…sort of.**

**By the way, a playlist for this story is up! Check my tumblr bio (lindirs-gaze) and I also posted about it recently.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Bilbo sat on his bedroom floor for a long time, staring at the discarded map until it grew blurry in his vision.

Perhaps it had all been nothing more than a vivid nightmare. But it had felt real enough, had been so disorienting that he was afraid to walk out his door. He was not altogether convinced that he had returned to his own time, and that this was not just another destination in a twisted sequence of realities in which he had no part.

But whatever this was, he could not sit here forever. Bilbo pushed himself up with a wince, stowed the map in an empty drawer, and stepped out of his bedroom.

The kitchen looked about the same. There was a bit of flour on the counter that he must have missed while cleaning up earlier. He swept it up and forged on through the front door.

Erebor looked the same—still a bit barren and empty, with only a few Iron Hills dwarves walking past. Bilbo walked with one hand hovering near Sting, in case something unexpected appeared. The image of the other Thorin still stung in his mind, and he tried to brush the thought away.

Bilbo reached the front gate and climbed to the top. Dale was crumbling and ash-stained once more, and the sight was both a comfort and a sorrow.

He watched the clouds roll by overhead and breathed in the fresh air. By all accounts, things seemed to be back to normal, and he tried to ground himself once more. He was done meddling in the past. _This_ was the reality he was in, and he would have to accept that.

He wondered if that was the reason he'd been sent back in the first place, though it seemed a cruel way to teach him a rather simple lesson. He looked down at his hands. Was there some higher power that had given him these abilities, that had tugged him around into different timelines? If that was the case, then why him? What was he meant to do with all of this?

"Bilbo?"

He started slightly and turned around. Thorin was standing at the top of the stairs leading up to the battlements. Apprehension filled him for a moment before vanishing entirely.

This was _Thorin_, the dwarf who had saved Bilbo from falling in the Misty Mountains, who had trusted him to lead the escape from Thranduil's dungeons, who had shared some of his deepest vulnerabilities and fears with him. He was standing there, his face open and honest and kind, and…and it felt like home.

Bilbo realized he was moving, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Thorin's neck. Thorin immediately returned the embrace, securing him in his arms, and Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut. This alone was enough to assure him that everything would be all right.

"Are you all right?" Thorin asked lowly. He tightened his hold slightly. "Are we in danger?"

"No," Bilbo whispered, then took a moment to gather himself. He couldn't tell Thorin about what he had just experienced. He was sure the dwarf had enough "what-ifs" swirling about in his head, and there was no reason to add to the mix. He pulled back and cleared his throat. "I suppose I've just been thinking about what we spoke about earlier…"

"As have I," Thorin said. He let Bilbo pull away, but his hands lingered on his arms for a moment before dropping to his sides. "And I believe you are right, Bilbo. I believe there is a future for this place."

"Oh." He blinked. Part of him was still reeling from the events of the days he had spent in and out of the past, and their conversation from what had really only been a few hours ago seemed incredibly distant now. But Thorin's words seemed like the light at the end of a dark and winding tunnel. There was still hope to be found in this time, and the fact that Thorin believed it too made everything seem all the more possible. "That…That is good to hear. Truly."

Concern seeped over the warmth in Thorin's eyes. "Are you sure you're all right?"

The words pressed against the back of his throat. He wanted badly to tell _someone_, but this wasn't the right time, not with all the dangers that threatened the mountain at the moment.

"Yes. I'm fine, Thorin."

"Bilbo." Thorin put a hand on his shoulder, his thumb resting over Bilbo's collarbone. His searching gaze made Bilbo feel utterly transparent. "I confided my fears in you earlier. I hope you know that you can do the same."

"I…" Bilbo hesitated. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to tell him just a little of what had happened.

A shout went up from the wall. Thorin lowered his hand and hurried to the battlements, Bilbo right on his heels.

A dwarf was making his way to the gate. His clothing was dirty, his hair matted, and there was blood obscuring one side of his face. But his bald, tattooed head was recognizable enough.

Thorin took in a sharp breath and turned to the guards. "Open the gate." Bilbo followed him as he hurried to the bottom of the wall and through the open doorway.

Dwalin was upright, at the very least, but he didn't seem to have energy for much more than that as they approached. Thorin reached him and pulled him into an embrace, holding him tightly while still being careful of any wounds he might have. He pressed his forehead to Dwalin's, gently, then pulled back.

"Let's get you to a healer," Thorin said, grasping his shoulder. "Can you walk?"

Dwalin grunted. "Walked all the way here. Sure I can make it inside."

"Bilbo." Thorin turned to him. "See if you can find Óin."

"Get Balin, too," Dwalin said. "I've got news for the both of you."

"I'll take them both to the infirmary," Bilbo said, and hurried into the mountain. Despite his relief, he had a feeling this was not the end of their troubles.

* * *

"What happened out there?"

They were gathered in the infirmary, watching Óin treat a nasty-looking gash on Dwalin's chest. Balin, who had spoken, was hovering by the cot where Dwalin was sitting, his brow knitted in concern.

"Orcs attacked us on the road," Dwalin said. Once he'd reached the infirmary, he'd asked for some brandy, and a few swigs seemed to have restored some vitality to him. "Far more than we expected. Goblins were with them—they killed those on watch and took us by surprise."

Óin clicked his tongue. "You were lucky to escape with these wounds."

"Did…Did anyone else survive?" Bilbo asked. He'd heard that of all the heads that had been put in that gruesome display earlier, a few dwarves in the hunting party remained unaccounted for, besides Dwalin.

But Dwalin's expression only darkened further. "Not that I know of. They dragged away most of the dead and injured."

Bilbo shuddered. He didn't want to imagine what horrible things had been done to them.

Thorin put a comforting hand on his shoulder and asked, "How many orcs?"

"Thirty, by my count, though there may be more. Looked like several smaller packs joined forces to attack our party," Dwalin said.

"Survivors from the battle, I assume." Balin crossed his arms.

"Aye. Perhaps a few from up north." Dwalin grunted as Óin began cleaning a cut on his bicep. "Was too busy avoiding them to pay much attention."

Thorin frowned. "They're communicating with one another. Do you think they're planning something?"

"Aye. Any chance of mustering another fighting force here?"

Balin shook his head. "They were ready to rally when they learned the death of their kin. But most of them are untrained, and there is too much discord among their ranks."

Dwalin's thick brows knitted together. "What do you mean?"

Balin sighed. "We've been having problems with dragon sickness in some of the Iron Hills dwarves."

Dwalin growled a curse in Khuzdul.

"The best we can do for now is keep the front gate reinforced and guarded. There is only one way into the mountain that is known to everyone, and we have enough supplies to withstand a siege for some time."

Bilbo rubbed at the back of his neck. They'd barely survived one battle last year, and that was when they'd had help and far greater numbers. Were they really going to prepare for another one so soon?

"Couldn't we ask for help from the elves?" he asked.

All four dwarves looked at him as though he'd suggested they ride the Mirkwood spiders into battle.

"You cannot deny that they are skilled warriors," he said. "And they are certainly more equipped to help us than anyone else."

"I doubt they'd be willing to," Balin said with a sigh that made his beard flutter.

Bilbo turned to Thorin. "You gave those gems to Thranduil as a show of goodwill. Could you not at least ask him to help?"

Thorin's face was set in a small frown, which Bilbo considered a massive improvement from the dark scowl that would usually descend upon his expression at the mention of elves. "There is no guarantee they would give us aid after the casualties they suffered during the battle. And we have no immediate need for it, not until we have a better idea of what the orcs are planning." Before Bilbo could continue arguing, he turned and made for the door. "I'm sending a raven to Dís. It won't be safe for anyone to travel to the mountain until we have this under control."

Bilbo watched him go. He knew he'd have better luck turning the mountain on its head than convincing Thorin to seek help from the elves, even after everything that had happened. But he feared if the time came that he did see that as an option, it would already be too late.

But there was nothing to be done for it now. He turned back to the others. "Dís is Thorin's sister, right?"

"Aye," Balin said. "She has authority over the affairs of the Blue Mountains while Thorin is absent. The original plan was for her to lead the rest of our people to Erebor once the mountain was reclaimed, but…"

"What is she like?" Bilbo had heard her mentioned in passing a few times, but he still didn't know much about her.

"Well, she raised Fíli and Kíli," Dwalin said. "That should give you something of an idea."

Bilbo smiled slightly. That was quite telling, indeed.

"Hopefully you'll get to meet her soon enough," Balin said. "I'm sure she'll be interested to meet you," he added with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

Bilbo wasn't quite sure what to make of that, though his cheeks heated slightly as his thoughts strayed back to Thorin. He'd never met any of his immediate family, besides Fíli and Kíli. He wondered what it would be like to meet someone who had grown up alongside him, someone who was similar to him, whose differences would only reflect more strongly on his own qualities.

He was struck by the sudden desire to _know_ Thorin, to understand who he was and who he had been, to know his thoughts before they were spoken aloud. He wanted there to be full and genuine trust between them.

Perhaps he would tell him the whole truth.

* * *

Bilbo was in the middle of washing dishes when a knock sounded at his door. He went to open it, and was surprised to see Bofur and Bombur standing outside, along with a table and a set of chairs.

"Um." He blinked. "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh, aye," Bofur said, wearing his characteristic grin. "We'll only be a moment." He stepped inside, followed by Bombur, and the two of them took hold of his dining table.

Bilbo watched them with raised brows—it had been a long while since a group of dwarves had barged into his home and started rearranging his furniture—then recovered. "H-Hang on. What's going on, here?"

"We're replacing your table and chairs," Bofur said as if it was obvious (which it was, a bit). "This one's no good anymore, is it?" He pressed down on the corner of the table, making it rock back and forth.

That was true enough. Most of his furniture was old and creaky, and he'd stuffed a spare bit of cloth under one of the table legs so it wouldn't wobble as much. And he was still missing a dining chair.

He stepped back so Bofur and Bombur could carry his table outside. When they came back for the chairs, Bilbo peered outside at the new set of furniture.

"Where did this all come from, anyway?"

"Thorin asked us to bring it over," Bombur replied.

Bilbo let out a surprised half-laugh. "I hope Thorin knows that I can purchase my own furniture."

"Oh, no. He made this himself," Bofur said as they began bringing in the new table. "Careful with that, Bombur."

Bilbo watched them set it down and head back outside. He wondered if he was dreaming, or if he'd somehow ended up in an alternate time again. "I…I didn't know Thorin had skill in woodworking."

"Most dwarves have some skill in just about any craft." Bofur took up one chair in either arm, while Bombur took the other pair. "This is no masterwork here, but I suppose it'll do the job."

"It's very nice work," Bilbo said, suddenly feeling defensive. "I'll have to thank him later for it."

"That you should," Bofur said with a wink as they arranged the chairs around the table.

"Bye, Bilbo!" Bombur said with a wave as he and his brother disappeared through the door, shutting it behind them.

Bilbo stared at the table for a long time, as if to ascertain that it was real. He walked over and sat in one of the chairs, running his hand over the edge of the wood. It was a rich brown color, rather reminiscent of his furniture back home, and much sturdier and smoother than what he'd had before.

It had been months ago that he'd complained to Thorin about his missing chair. Somehow, despite all of the worries and responsibilities that came with running a kingdom, Thorin had remembered that and…and had _made_ him an entirely new dining set.

The thought stayed with him for the rest of the day, settling warm in his belly like a good meal. But there was another sensation as well, a sort of hunger that he knew would only be satisfied once he had the chance to see Thorin again.

He made himself wait until the evening, when it was more likely that he would be a bit less busy. Nerves began to flutter in his chest as he walked through the palace halls. He'd dressed himself in the nicest waistcoat he owned, a burgundy thing embroidered with leaves. It was a little square in the shoulders, typical of dwarvish fashion, but something about wearing it made him feel a bit more confident.

Thorin was not in his study, so he made his way to the royal quarters. He hesitated for a long moment before knocking, but received no response. After another minute of deliberation, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He walked across the room and knocked on Thorin's door.

This time, Thorin came to answer the door directly. He was likely finished with any meetings for the day—his robe was off, leaving only a simple shirt and trousers, and his brow was free of a crown.

Bilbo sincerely hoped he wasn't intruding somehow. He didn't know if there was any proper etiquette for walking into a palace and knocking on the king's bedroom door. Bifur had been guarding the palace entrance—this was a duty reserved only for members of the Company—but he'd only waved as he'd passed by.

Thankfully, Thorin did not look irritated or affronted at all. "Bilbo. Come in." He stepped aside to allow Bilbo through the door.

"I was rather hoping I could persuade you to join me." He took his pipe from his pocket and lifted it, hoping his nerves didn't show in his smile. "I think we could both use a bit of a break."

Thorin's expression brightened, and the sight eased some of the tension Bilbo was feeling. "All right. Give me a moment." He stepped inside, presumably to retrieve his pipe, then reappeared at the door. "Lead on."

Feeling somewhat weightless, Bilbo led the way out of the room and down the hall. "You know, I received a new dining set today."

"Indeed?" Thorin's voice carried an undercurrent of what Bilbo thought might be nervousness. "And do you like it?"

"Of course I do. It's a very fine piece of work." Bilbo smiled up at him. "Thank you, Thorin."

"I hope it will serve you well," Thorin said as they descended the steps in front of the palace.

"It was a very good gift." It certainly meant more to him than any amount of gold or gems. "Though I do hope it wasn't out of some sense of debt or obligation, after…"

"No," Thorin said, and Bilbo believed him. "It was only a token of our friendship."

It was the same thing he'd said after giving the mithril shirt to him, though that had been under much different circumstances. So much had changed since then. And Bilbo was still clinging to the hope that their friendship might change as well.

"Where are we going?" Thorin asked as they turned down one of the narrower hallways to the right.

"I'm sure you will recognize it soon enough," Bilbo said. "I thought it might be nice to find a spot where we can have some true privacy."

"I see."

Bilbo felt his face grow hot. He'd only meant that it would be good for Thorin to be somewhere no one would remind him of his various duties. Of course there was no ulterior motive in his choosing a spot where he and Thorin would be alone in secret. Though if something were to happen…

He shook the rest of the thought from his head. There was no sense in getting his hopes up.

Soon enough, they entered a small tunnel tucked away in the corner of a staircase, and Thorin hummed in recognition.

"You chose well, Bilbo. I doubt anyone will think to look for us here."

"Yes," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "And I thought we could use some fresh air as well."

The tunnel was not as well lit as the rest of Erebor, and soon it became too dark to see where they were going. Bilbo realized he'd forgotten to bring a torch—he had the means to light his pipe, but that would hardly help them now.

Thorin grasped Bilbo's arm. "Stay close to me." He began leading the way through the tunnel.

Bilbo obliged, moving close enough that the back of his hand occasionally brushed against Thorin's trousers. "How can you see where you're going?"

"All dwarves have stone sense," he replied. "I can feel the mountain around me, as long as I am in contact with it."

"Oh. I suppose that must be rather useful." Even after spending so much time with dwarves, it seemed there were still new things to learn about them.

After a while, Thorin stopped, pulling Bilbo to a halt with him. The grating of stone sounded, and light filled the tunnel. It was dim, only moonlight, but Bilbo still had to blink and give his eyes a moment to adjust.

The alcove outside the hidden door was more or less the same as when they had last left it, though the weather was warmer now. Bilbo was beginning to regret not bringing a blanket as well, since there was no real comfortable place to sit. He was looking for a relatively smooth patch of rock when something caught his eye.

"_Oh_." He knelt down, reaching out to gently touch the small sprout.

Thorin was at his side in an instant. "What is it?"

"See this?" Bilbo gestured to the small plant with a grin. "Things are growing here again." He looked around. "This alcove, the whole _mountain_, will see new life this spring."

"That is good news."

Bilbo was surprised at his tone. He knew dwarves did not particularly care for gardens and forests, but there was relief and joy in Thorin's voice that mirrored his own. He turned to look at him, and his breath caught in his throat.

Thorin looked positively radiant, the moonlight shining in his grin, and Bilbo wanted so badly to…to—

A strange thought struck him. With his ability to turn back time, he could do a great many things without consequence. If he so desired (and he did, very much) he could lean up and kiss Thorin now. And if Thorin indicated that he did not want him, he could simply go back before it happened and he would be none the wiser. It would be his own private embarrassment, the price of doing what he had always wanted.

His heart pounding, Bilbo shifted so that he was facing him. He'd always considered Thorin to be a good-looking dwarf, and now with the moonlight illuminating his eyes and the silver streaks in his hair, he looked absolutely enchanting.

Thorin's gaze was soft, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. "Bilbo?"

And before he could come up with any more excuses, he leaned in and kissed him. He only allowed himself the barest brush of skin, reveling in the soft texture of his lips offset by the rougher texture of his beard, then began to lean away.

But Thorin stopped him with one hand on the back of his neck and pulled him back in. He kissed him properly this time, and the heat that had been gathering in Bilbo's stomach burst, filling him from head to toe with warmth. His arms wound around Thorin's neck, his fingers brushing against the surprisingly soft strands of his hair. He didn't hold back this time, kissing him just as deeply as he'd always wanted.

Thorin's other arm went around his waist, pulling him closer until their chests were pressed together, and Bilbo was practically kneeling in his lap. His skin was tingling from the friction of Thorin's beard, his breath hitching as Thorin's tongue brushed against his lower lip. He wanted _more_, wanted him closer, wanted everything bared between them.

He was quite disappointed when Thorin finally broke the kiss, though his arms remained tight around Bilbo, holding him close. His ragged breaths warmed the air between their lips.

"Would you…"

Bilbo opened his eyes to see Thorin gazing at him with a dizzying mixture of affection, apprehension, and desire.

"Would you come to bed with me?"

"Yes," Bilbo answered immediately. He did not spare a single thought to what would be considered proper or appropriate—only that it would be a bit awkward to do what he desired on the rocky floor where they were sitting.

"Good," Thorin breathed, the apprehension fading from his eyes. He loosened his grip enough that they could untangle themselves from each other and stand up. Bilbo spared a moment to check that they had not crushed the little plant during their…endeavors, and fortunately it appeared that they hadn't.

Thorin took him by the hand and led him back into the mountain. The halls were quiet as they walked, and soon enough, they were back in the palace. They made it all the way to the royal quarters before a voice stopped them.

Thorin let out a small noise of exasperation and turned to face Dori as he approached. Bilbo shifted, but Thorin did not let go of him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Dori said, glancing briefly at their joined hands. "There's an important matter that needs your attention. Dwalin's waiting for you at the front gate."

"All right." Thorin nodded, and Dori retreated down the hallway. Once he was out of earshot, Thorin turned to Bilbo. "I'm sorry. I must see to this."

"I know," Bilbo said with a small smile. He _had_ known what he was getting into, falling in love with a king, and he was far too elated at the moment to begrudge him this.

Thorin raised one hand to Bilbo's face, his thumb gently stroking across his cheek. "I'll try to make this quick. Will you wait for me?"

"I will." He placed his hand over Thorin's. "And you should hope I'm still awake by the time you return."

He let out a soft laugh at that, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. "I will see you soon, _amrâlimê_."

Bilbo watched him go. He supposed he would have to ask him what that last word meant when he returned.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, the heat in his belly reigniting. Something about waiting for Thorin, sitting on his bed and knowing what was coming next, only made his desire grow stronger. He did hope that Thorin would be quick, though.

As he crossed the room, he noticed a dark shape on the ground next to one of the couches. Bilbo frowned and stepped closer. It was Kíli, lying facedown on the floor. Perhaps he'd had too much to drink.

"Kíli?" He knelt down and shook his shoulder. He received only a small groan in response. "Are you all right?"

He brushed aside his hair, and realized there was a dark stain across the side of his face. The metallic scent of blood reached his nose, and the sensation in his stomach turned to ice.

"Oh, no." He shook him again, harder this time. "Kíli? Can you hear me?"

Boots scuffed the ground behind him. Bilbo turned in time to see a dwarf raise a club in one hand. The wood cracked across his temple, and he wasn't quite conscious enough to feel himself hit the floor.

**Noooo cockblocked by plots of treason! akrjghadfkjg I'm so sorry guys. We're getting close to the end here, but for anyone worried, this is going to have a happy ending.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Bilbo woke to a splitting pain in the side of his head. He let out a small groan and pressed a hand to his temple—or tried to. Some sort of heavy metal was binding his wrists together.

"Bilbo? Are you awake?"

He peeled his eyes open. He was lying on his side in a small, unfamiliar cavern. Fíli and Kíli were sitting nearby, their hands shackled together as well.

It all came back to him in a rush—the alcove, going back to the palace, finding Kíli… Pleasure warmed him for a brief moment as he thought of Thorin, but it was quickly doused by dread.

He tried to lift himself into a sitting position, and hissed as his head gave another twinge. There was no chance that he could go back and stop their attackers. It had probably been hours since then, and he had learned early on that he could not go back in time after he'd been unconscious.

"Take it easy," Fíli said. "They've left us alone for now."

"Who has?" Bilbo finally managed to prop himself up against the wall, and rested the heavy metal shackles in his lap. "Where are we?"

"Still in Erebor, though I can't tell much more than that. We're probably in an abandoned section of the kingdom."

There was a heavy metal door at one end, undoubtedly locked, and a small amount of light came through the crack at the bottom and the small, barred window at the top. Fíli was sitting closest to the door. Kíli was upright as well, but his head drooped towards his chest. A good amount of blood covered the side of his face, darkening the stubble on his cheeks.

"Is he all right?" Bilbo asked.

"I'm fine," Kíli responded lowly. "My head hurts, is all."

"We need to figure out a way to get out of here." Fíli glanced at his brother, a mixture of concern and rage flashing across his face. "We're still inside the mountain. If we can get out of here, it shouldn't be too hard to make it back to the others."

The cavern was beginning to feel very small. They were trapped and alone in some hidden part of Erebor, and no one who would protect them knew where they were. They were bound and Kíli was injured. Escape did not seem very probable at the moment.

Bilbo swallowed back his fear. "What do they want with us, anyway?"

"Ransom, if I had to guess. For us, they could ask for as much gold as they could carry."

He frowned at the door. "You think these are the sick dwarves? The ones who tried to kill Thorin?"

"It's possible," Fíli replied. "I haven't gotten a good look at them yet."

Fíli's calm demeanor was bracing, and Bilbo settled back against the cave wall. The three of them had certainly been in more dangerous situations. Hopefully they would be able to find a way out of this one.

And Bilbo was more grateful than ever for his abilities.

"We need to know their numbers first," Fíli continued. "And how this place is laid out. We'll disable as many as we can, try and grab some weapons, and make a run for it. With any luck, the Company will already be searching for us."

Bilbo's stomach sank slightly. He hoped Thorin didn't think he'd left the royal quarters on purpose. Not that he liked the idea of Thorin being worried over them once he realized what had happened, but that would hopefully help them get rescued faster.

"I may have a way to slip out unnoticed, once they open the door," he said.

"How?" Fíli asked.

"It's…" He couldn't think of a good reason to keep his secret from them any longer. "I know this sounds a bit odd, but I can, um, stop time and make it go backwards. It's how I was able to save Thorin from the assassins."

Kíli lifted his head and squinted at him. "Are you serious?"

Bilbo let out a nervous laugh. "Well, I don't really think this is the time for jokes. This might be our only chance at escaping."

"So you would stop time and sneak past the guards," Fíli said.

"Yes, but…I wouldn't be able to take you with me. I would have to escape by myself, get some help, and lead them back here."

Fíli nodded. "That's our plan, then."

"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" Bilbo asked. "When they notice I'm gone, what if they…try to hurt you?"

"We can handle them," Kíli said, his usual bravado shining through the exhaustion in his voice.

"They can't hurt us too badly, anyway, or they have less of a chance of pulling off the deal," Fíli said.

That wasn't very reassuring at all, but Bilbo knew it would have to be enough. The most important thing was getting help, and he was the only one who could do it.

"You two should get some rest," Fíli said. "I'll take first watch."

* * *

Bilbo's head still hurt when he woke. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and he sat up with a wince. His arms were sore from being stuck in the same position for so long.

Kíli was curled up with his back to the wall, his chest rising and falling evenly. Fíli was sitting by the door, looking alert as ever.

"How long was I asleep?" Bilbo asked, keeping his voice low.

"A few hours," Fíli replied. He glanced at the door. "No one's come through, yet."

Bilbo gave up trying to rearrange his limbs into a more comfortable position and leaned back against the wall with his hands in his lap. "How are you so calm right now?"

"Well, one of us has to keep his wits about him," Fíli said, and they both chuckled softly at that. He glanced at Kíli, and the humor faded from his eyes. "I have to be strong for him. Whatever happens, I have to make sure that he makes it out of this."

"We all will." Bilbo leaned forward slightly. "All three of this are going to make it out, alive."

Fíli lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked up at him. "That reminds me. Why did they take you? Kíli and I are princes, but…"

"Well, I suppose it was more of a coincidence than anything." Bilbo shifted slightly. "I was in the royal quarters, and I found Kíli after he was knocked out. The next thing I knew, one of them was standing behind me."

"Were you looking for Thorin?"

There was no suspicion in Fíli's voice, but Bilbo felt his cheeks grow warm, and hoped the room was dim enough that it wasn't visible on his face. "Uh…I suppose. I mean, it was…"

A long moment of silence stretched over the room. "Oh," Fíli finally said.

"I-I know this isn't the best time for…" Bilbo cleared his throat. "For you to find out. I just…"

"It's all right," Fíli said, sounding more amused than anything. "Now that I think about it, it does make sense. Thorin would do anything for you."

The heat on his cheeks deepened. "I—"

The lock in the door clicked, and the door swung open, flooding the room with light. Bilbo blinked against the sudden brightness, and was able to make out the bulky silhouette of a dwarf standing in the doorway.

"On your feet, the three of you," he growled.

Fíli remained where he was, gazing coldly at the dwarf. Kíli stirred from his sleep with a small groan. The dwarf stepped forward and seized the collar of Kíli's shirt, yanking him upright.

The movement had left a sufficient space for Bilbo to slip through the door. He lifted one hand and focused.

"Stop." Fíli struggled to his feet. "Leave him alone."

"Get your hands off me," Kíli snapped as the dwarf pulled him to his feet.

Bilbo straightened and tried again, but time kept moving forward. Panic shot through him, and he looked at Fíli with a small shake of the head.

Fíli glared at the dwarf. "Where are you taking us?"

"Shut your mouth." The dwarf turned and pulled Bilbo to his feet, none too gently.

Kíli shot him a questioning glance, and Bilbo lowered his gaze, feeling his pulse thundering in his throat. This was the worst possible moment for his abilities to stop working.

While the dwarf's back was turned, Fíli shot a quick signal to Kíli, who nodded. Bilbo guessed this was part of the language of gestures that Bifur sometimes used, though he didn't know what had been said.

There was no time for anything else. The dwarf shoved them one by one through the door and into a large cavern. There was a rickety table in the center, piled with pickaxes and other tools, and a rack against one wall was filled with dusty helmets. Three other dwarves were waiting for them, all armed and glowering. Bilbo recognized one as the dwarf who had poured the poisoned wine for Thorin, the one who had escaped from the feast. Rage guttered in his chest, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Two of the dwarves took up the lead, one of them holding a lantern, while the other two positioned themselves in the rear. They corralled the three of them in that manner towards the door at the other end of the room.

The dwarf who had roused them said, "If any of you tries something, I'll slit the halfling's throat. We only need the sons of Durin alive."

Neither of them replied, but Fíli and Kíli shifted their positions so they were on either side of Bilbo. He drew a small measure of comfort from their presence, but it wasn't enough to quell his rising panic.

His abilities were gone. Gandalf had warned him that it would happen, but he didn't think there had been a time when he needed them more. What was he supposed to do if he couldn't even protect himself?

His head gave another twinge, and he winced. Perhaps that was the reason—a blow to the head had given him his abilities, and one had taken them away.

The dwarves led them down a dark, unfamiliar tunnel. The rock was rough-hewn, and several unlit lanterns were strung at intervals near the ceiling. They were most likely in an abandoned mine, but Bilbo still wasn't sure what exactly they were doing here.

Eventually they stopped at an opening in the wall. The entrance was framed by fragments of wood, and several broken boards lay on the ground next to it.

"You can't be serious," Kíli said. "That tunnel is closed off for a reason. Are you trying to get us all killed?"

"Shut up and keep walking." One of the dwarves behind them prodded Kíli in the back with the butt of his axe.

Fíli turned and glared at him, then nodded for them to continue. The tunnel was much narrower, forcing them to walk in single file—Fíli in the front, then Bilbo, then Kíli.

"What is this?" Bilbo whispered to Kíli as they walked. The floor was gradually sloping downhill, and he had to watch his footing to avoid loose rocks or uneven steps.

"Some mining tunnels are too unstable to be used," he replied in a low voice. "Either they're liable to cave in, or the floor is too weak to hold a dwarf's weight."

"So why are they leading us down here?"

"I don't know."

Bilbo shifted his gaze to the ground as he nearly tripped over a loose rock. Perhaps their previous hiding place had nearly been discovered, and they'd wanted to move out of caution. But then why take them down a dangerous tunnel? The only other reason they would have to move was…

"They're taking us out of the mountain."

"What?" Kíli hissed. "How can that be? There's only two ways into the mountain."

"There's two ways _in_," Bilbo said. "But there may be more ways out."

"They're going to want to conduct the trade outside," Fíli added. "It'll be easier for them to escape afterwards."

The two dwarves in front stopped, and Fíli narrowly avoided running into one of them. Bilbo peered around them and was able to see a pile of rocks, along with the broken remains of some wood, blocking their path. The dwarf in front handed his lantern to the other and pushed aside one of the longer wooden beams, creating a small opening at the bottom.

The dwarf with the lantern bent down and crawled through the opening. He stood up and said, "Come on."

"And make it quick," the other one grunted, still holding the beam in place.

"This is insane." Shaking his head, Fíli crouched down and crawled through.

Bilbo followed once the opening was clear. It was hard to move with his hands shackled together, but he eventually managed, and Fíli helped him to his feet.

Kíli was halfway through when one of the dwarves swore, and the _crack_ of splintering wood filled the air. The pile of rubble collapsed over Kíli, sending up a cloud of dust.

"_Kíli_!" With a strangled cry, Fíli lunged for the rubble.

Bilbo tried to follow him, but the dwarf wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and the cold sliver of a knife pressed against his throat.

He fell still, suppressing a desperate sob as Fíli frantically tried to dig through the rubble.

_Please. Please, just once more. I just need one chance to save him_. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to reach out, to find one last vestige of magic that he could use.

A tingle appeared in his fingers, and he grabbed hold of it, desperately. He clenched his jaw and tried with all his strength to force time backwards.

A splitting pain lanced through his head, but he didn't let go. Even as blood leaked from his nose and his knees buckled, Bilbo held on desperately to the fading glimmer in his palm.

But despite his efforts, he could feel it slipping away, and his consciousness followed shortly after.

* * *

Bilbo leaned his head back and breathed in the spring air. The scent of wildflowers and a hint of pipeweed smoke drifted on the breeze. It was an especially warm day in Hobbiton, a sign that spring was ripening into summer.

His eyes were closed, but he could still sense that someone was coming up the path towards the front of Bag End. He opened his eyes to see…himself.

The other Bilbo did not look happy. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his waistcoat and shirt were rumpled, as though he'd slept in them.

_Goodness, do I really look that tired?_

The other Bilbo stopped in front of him and crossed his arms.

"Um…" Bilbo wasn't quite sure what to say. He was quite certain this was a dream. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he wasn't able to grasp it yet.

"Have you figured it out yet?" his lookalike asked.

"Figured…what out?"

"Come on, then." The other Bilbo gestured for him to follow.

They went round back to the garden, and Bilbo was dismayed to see it covered in weeds. He would have to talk to Hamfast about this.

"You've been left behind," the other Bilbo said, kneeling in front of a particularly tall weed.

"L-Left behind?" Bilbo joined him, kneeling in the soft dirt. "I'm not sure what you mean. I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. I was supposed to be…"

It all came back to him in a rush—Erebor, Thorin, Fíli, Kíli. He remembered the cold dark stone, so different from the hills of the Shire, and Thorin's warm touch. There had been iron shackles around his wrists, and…

"Oh, no," he breathed. "Kíli. Kíli was hurt."

"You tried to stop it," the other Bilbo said. "But it didn't work."

"No." Bilbo gave a jerky shake of his head. "But why? All those times I was able to save Thorin…"

"You also _didn't_ save him." The other Bilbo looked at him grimly. "And now you're figuring it out, just like the rest of us."

"I-I haven't figured out anything."

The other Bilbo took hold of the stalk of a tall weed. "Every time you used your abilities, you were able to create a new future. Thorin was poisoned, and then he was not." He touched one of the branching parts of the weed. "But time cannot be truly stopped, nor can it be turned back. You succeeded in saving Thorin…but you also failed." He touched the stem. "And time continues on."

"So…" Bilbo's hand clenched against his thigh. "So you're saying there was a version of me that was able to save Kíli. But that's not me. And that's why I've lost my abilities. And…And that this has happened every time I've used them."

The other Bilbo nodded.

He sucked in a sharp breath. So Kíli's fate—and Thorin's as well—had been determined by the toss of a coin. And somehow he'd ended up on the wrong side. "It's not fair. It's not fair to them."

"Maybe it is," the other Bilbo said quietly. "I mean, it's not natural, is it, to be meddling with the flow of time. Perhaps this is the world's way of keeping balance. Perhaps this was just how it was meant to be."

Bilbo looked into the eyes of his counterpart. He could see grief and weariness there. He could see a multiplication of the despair he'd felt losing Thorin for even a moment.

He bowed his head. "I can't…I can't accept that. I can't lose any of them."

"Well, you may still have a chance," the other Bilbo said lowly. "But you're going to have to figure it out on your own. The way we used to."

Bilbo took in a shuddering breath. Perhaps he still had the slimmest of opportunities to save the people that he loved. And despite his fear, the only way to go was forward.

**That last scene is my version of the nightmare sequence from Life is Strange. I thought it would be cool to play with the concept of branching timelines and how that would all work.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Bilbo tasted metal. His head felt as though it had been split open, and it took him a few minutes to find the strength to open his eyes.

A patch of early daylight was spread across the rock floor. He blinked and winced as pain flared between his temples.

"Bilbo?"

He let out a small groan. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to sleep off his terrible headache, and perhaps follow it with a bath—there was something crusted over his upper lip.

A pair of hands gently shook his shoulder. "Bilbo, can you hear me?"

Bilbo groaned again and forced his eyes open. Fíli was leaning over him, his face drawn and pale.

"I can…hear you."

"Oh, thank Mahal." Fíli breathed a sigh of relief and sat back on his heels.

Behind him, Bilbo could see the rising sun, framed by the mouth of the tunnel. They must have moved him while he was unconscious, away from…

"Kíli," he gasped. "Is he—"

"He's alive," Fíli said grimly. "But he's in bad shape."

Fíli helped him sit up so he could get a better look at their surroundings. They were sitting on the floor of the cave, and the four dwarves were keeping watch at the entrance. Kíli was slumped against the cave wall, his hair matted with dirt.

"It took some digging, but we were able to get him out," Fíli said. "But no one knew what had happened to you. You turned deathly pale, started bleeding from your nose…"

Well, that explained the uncomfortable sensation on his upper lip. Bilbo wiped his face with his sleeve, and bits of dried blood stuck to the fabric.

"I…overexerted myself, trying to use those abilities I mentioned earlier." The strange dream he'd had lingered at the corner of his mind, but this wasn't the time to mull it over. "It seems I've lost them for good. I…I'm sorry. I know it's rather unbelievable in the first place, but—"

"It's all right," Fíli said. "We can't do anything about it now. We'll have to figure out another way to escape." He glanced at the dwarves gathered by the cave entrance. "We have to make our move soon. If they take us away from the mountain, there's no guarantee we'll be able to find help."

Bilbo nodded. Cold dread was beginning to rise within him, but he pushed past it. He wasn't going to lose anyone today. He would protect Kíli and Fíli, and he would make sure the three of them made it back home.

"We'll find a way out," Bilbo said, meeting Fíli's eyes. They would have to draw strength from each other, now. "I promise."

* * *

Bilbo could tell the dwarves were getting uneasy.

The sun had risen fully now, and still they lingered at the mouth of the cave. Fíli had guessed that the dwarves were waiting for mounts to more easily transport their prisoners, but so far no one had arrived.

Kíli had spent most of the morning sleeping fitfully, his brow furrowed in pain. When he finally woke, Fíli was at his side in an instant.

"How are you feeling?"

"Never better," Kíli rasped, smiling weakly.

Fíli frowned and lifted both shackled hands, placing one against Kíli's forehead.

Kíli leaned away. "I'm fine. Really."

"Is he sick?" Bilbo asked, shifting closer to them.

"No. Not yet, anyway." Fíli lowered his hands. "You're not breathing right. If your ribs were injured, you could get an infection."

Now that Bilbo knew to look for it, he could see that Kíli was breathing rather shallowly, as though he was in a great deal of pain.

"Well, maybe we should call a healer," Kíli said.

Fíli sighed and turned away, a furrow in his brow appearing that was strikingly reminiscent of Thorin. "When the mounts arrive, we'll take one and ride to the front gate."

"And how exactly are we supposed to do that?" Bilbo lifted his shackled hands.

"We'll try and take their weapons." Fíli's expression darkened. "We have to do whatever it takes."

"Fíli." Bilbo leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I do not doubt your determination for one second. But Kíli is in no shape to fight, and I'm not entirely confident in my own ability, especially not with my hands bound. If we want to get out of here, we need to be smart about it."

Fíli glowered for a moment longer, then his expression relaxed somewhat. "What are you thinking, then?"

Bilbo glanced at the group of dwarves by the entrance. "I'm thinking we should try and even the odds a bit. We may not have to fight all four of them if we can get them to fight each other."

Realization flashed in Fíli's eyes. "You mean to use their sickness against them."

Bilbo nodded. He remembered well how paranoia had hounded Thorin while he'd been sick, how he'd been immovably convinced that everyone around him intended to steal the gold he had coveted so fiercely. He was sure whatever bond or alliance holding these dwarves together could easily be broken.

He settled back against the cave wall. "Let me do the talking for now, all right?" He lifted his head to look at the dwarves and raised his voice. "Excuse me?"

One of the dwarves walked over to their huddled group and glared down at him. "What?"

"My friend needs some water," Bilbo said, gesturing to Kíli with his chin. "He's not feeling well. You cannot expect this trade to go through if we're all dead from hunger and thirst."

The dwarf muttered something under his breath and walked over to where the supplies were kept. He returned after a moment with a waterskin, which he tossed to the ground.

"Thank you." Bilbo handed the waterskin to Kíli, and Fíli reached over to held him open it. "By the way, I know you mentioned killing me earlier, but I'm quite sure you could fetch a bit of gold for my life, as well."

The dwarf looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "What would the king want with a halfling?"

"King Thorin holds all the members of his Company in high regard," Fíli said. "And on that note, I recommend you ask for gems instead of gold. It'll be easier to transport a high value ransom in that form."

"I'm not taking advice from prisoners," the dwarf spat. He turned and began walking away.

"They'll also be easier to steal or hide," Fíli added at the dwarf's retreating back.

Kíli handed the waterskin to his brother. "I don't think he'll listen to us."

"That was nicely done, actually," Bilbo said. "I don't expect he'll be convinced right this moment. But sometimes all it takes is an idea."

* * *

Bilbo was pulled from his doze by a rough grip on his collar, and his eyes snapped open as he was dragged to his feet. Instinctively, he tried to pull away, but the sting of a knife at his throat made him freeze.

Fíli and Kíli were also being pulled upright, and the former fixed the dwarf holding Bilbo with a cold, furious glare. "Don't you dare hurt him."

"No one needs to get hurt if you all cooperate," the dwarf said, keeping the knife at Bilbo's neck. "The princes in the wagon first."

Bilbo looked to the side as much as he could without turning his head. A horse-drawn wagon was waiting at the entrance to the cave. Fíli and Kíli were shoved towards it and made to climb in through the back. Once they were inside, the dwarf holding Bilbo ushered him over and all but tossed him inside.

The doors slammed shut behind them, followed by the jingle of metal. Fíli stepped forward and tested the doors, but they didn't budge.

He cursed in Khuzdul and stepped back. "They must have chained them shut."

It was cramped inside the wagon, and dark except for a few slivers of light shining through the cracks in the wood. Bilbo sat against the wall and let out a shaky breath. They'd all been expecting loose mounts, something that would allow them to escape more easily. But in a matter of minutes, they'd ended up in another prison cell.

Fíli was pacing, the floorboards creaking with each step. "Search the wagon. See if there's anything we can use."

Bilbo shifted onto his knees with a sigh and began feeling around the floor. There was quite a bit of dirt, and a couple of pieces of what felt like hay, but nothing they could hope to use.

"They would have emptied it out before," Kíli said hoarsely. "Nothing here but us and the wagon."

"Then we'll use the wagon," Fíli said fiercely. "Thorin fought off Azog with an oaken branch. We'll break off a piece of the wall and use that if we have to."

The determination in his voice was like thunder. Bilbo allowed himself another moment of fear, then stood up. "Where do we start?"

* * *

It was too dark in the wagon to know for sure, but it must have been a few hours after they had left that the wagon stopped.

The three of them tensed and looked towards the door.

Their efforts had only provided them with one weapon. Fíli had taken a lace from his boot and used it to slowly saw off a fragment of wood from one of the floorboards. He'd insisted Kíli rest instead of helping them, and Bilbo had been ordered to keep watch through a tiny crack in the wall.

"There's nothing here," he whispered to the others as he peered outside. "It's just flat land."

The wagon shifted as the dwarves dismounted from the front.

"I'll take out as many as I can," Fíli said. "Bilbo, you help Kíli to the front and get on one of the ponies."

"You know, I could have made my own weapon if you'd let me help," Kíli said.

"You're in no shape to fight right now," Fíli replied, exasperation creeping into his voice.

"Shh." Bilbo held out a hand to the brothers, though he wasn't sure if they could see it. "They're not coming round back."

From his vantage point, he could only see half of one of the dwarves, but it seemed they were all standing in front, speaking in Khuzdul.

He glanced back at the brothers. "Can you hear what they're saying?"

The floorboards creaked as Fíli moved to the front of the wagon. "It's hard to make out."

The voices grew louder and angrier. Bilbo perked up as the dwarf in his line of sight stumbled back, as though he'd been shoved. "I think they're fighting."

"Let me listen to what they're saying," Fíli replied lowly.

Bilbo watched as the dwarf drew his weapon and moved out of sight. Things were certainly looking up for them—though he hoped at least one dwarf would be alive to unlock the door when this was all over.

"Wait a second." Kíli shifted. "Do you hear that?"

As Bilbo focused his hearing, he recognized the low pounding of hoofbeats.

"Something else is coming," Fíli said.

Bilbo let out a shaky sigh of relief. Perhaps their wagon had been tracked, and help had arrived.

A howl pierced the air, and his relief evaporated.

"Wargs." Fíli stood up with a curse. "The orcs must have found us."

"I can't decide if that's a good or bad thing," Kíli said.

Bilbo had thought the same when the orcs had accosted them during their escape from Mirkwood. "Perhaps we can use it to our advantage."

"Agreed." Fíli pushed on the doors again, but the held fast. "But first we need to get out of here."

The howling grew closer, and Bilbo could hear the grunts of the orcs and the shouts of the dwarves. The chain on the door rattled.

"Stay back," Fíli ordered quietly, moving to one side.

The doors open, flooding the wagon with light. Scowling, one of the dwarves climbed inside.

"If you want to live, you'll do as I say. I'm taking you all out of here and finishing this deal myse—"

Fíli leapt forward from the corner and wrapped his arms around the dwarf's neck from behind. "Go! Run!"

The dwarf let out a strangled noise as Fíli's shackles pressed tight against his throat. He turned and lunged backwards, slamming Fíli against the wall.

Bilbo darted forward, reaching for the short sword on the dwarf's belt, but one of the dwarf's hands thrashed out and caught him in the side of the head. He fell with a groan, his ears ringing.

The dwarf bashed his head backwards against Fíli's, and finally managed to get free from his grip. Kíli lunged forward, tackling the dwarf, and the two of them tumbled out of the wagon.

Wincing, Bilbo pushed himself up. "Fíli?"

"I'm all right." There was blood dripping from his nose and staining his mustache red, but he got to his feet, and the two of them stumbled towards the door.

Kíli was on the ground, his face contorted in pain. The dwarf was lying next to him, the makeshift dagger protruding from his throat.

The area around them was chaos. Most of the orcs and wargs were circling the remaining three dwarves, who were just barely holding them off. Bilbo could see more coming from over the hill.

"There's too many," he said breathlessly.

Fíli fell to his knees next to Kíli. "Are you hurt?"

Kíli gestured with his chin to the dead dwarf, breathing unevenly. "He got the worst of it."

"Come on." Fíli helped his brother up. "We need to get to the ponies." He took the sword from the dwarf's belt, and the three of them hurried to the front of the wagon.

The ponies snorted and shifted, clearly made uneasy by the presence of the wargs, but they stayed still while Fíli cut them loose from the wagon. He held his hands out to boost Bilbo onto one of them.

"I-I'm not very good at riding," Bilbo said. "And this one doesn't have a saddle."

"Just don't fall off," Fíli said, and Bilbo reluctantly let him boost him onto its back. "Make for the trees over there. We'll be right behind you."

He barely had time to locate the small forest in the distance before Fíli slapped the pony's flank, and it took off.

Bilbo had been on a pony before, when they'd first set off from the Shire, and he'd ridden a horse between Beorn's house and Mirkwood. But that had been mostly walking, and entirely different from the pace this pony was taking now. It was far bumpier than he'd expected, and all he could do was hold on for dear life and pray he didn't slide off.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. Fíli and Kíli had taken the other pony, and were following a little ways behind him. Most of the orcs were still occupied by the dwarves, but a couple warg riders had broken from the pack and were giving chase.

One of the orcs fired an arrow, and Fíli and Kíli's pony went down with a scream.

"No!" Bilbo tugged fruitlessly on the pony's reins to try and get it to stop, but it refused to slow its pace.

The distance between them was growing by the second. Bilbo closed his eyes, took a moment to hope he wasn't doing something dangerously foolish, then rolled off the side of his pony.

The impact was enough to knock the air from his lungs, and he rolled several times before finally coming to a stop. Dizzily, he pushed himself up, then stopped as pain lanced across his chest. It felt as though he'd been kicked in the ribs.

Thundering footsteps were growing closer to him. Bilbo looked up as a warg bore down on him and flinched away, but the beast shot past him and chased after his fleeing pony.

With a groan, Bilbo pushed himself to his feet and staggered towards Fíli and Kíli. By some miracle, Fíli had managed to bring down the other warg, but he was lying in the grass, weaponless, as the orc rider advanced on him.

This time, Bilbo knew with absolutely certainty that he was doing something dangerously foolish, but that didn't stop him from running forward and tackling the orc with his full weight. They crashed to the ground, and the orc pushed him onto his back with a snarl and raised its sword. Bilbo instinctively raised his hands to ward of the blow, and the blade cracked against his shackles.

Fíli appeared a moment later, driving the short sword through the orc's neck and shoving it off Bilbo with his boot.

"Are you all right?" Fíli stepped forward and helped Bilbo sit up.

He looked down at the dent in his shackles, breathing hard. "I-I think I'm going to be sick."

"Save it 'till we're in the forest." Fíli left him for the moment and went to help his brother up. "On your feet, Kíli."

Kíli was sweating, and looked just about as nauseated as Bilbo felt. He staggered as Fíli took hold of his arm and helped him up.

"Bilbo," Fíli said. "Take the sword. We're going to need every weapon we can find."

Bilbo bent down to take the weapon that had nearly ended his life. It was jagged and crudely made, but he held onto it tightly as they made their way towards the forest.

No other orcs attacked them, and the warg that had been chasing Bilbo's pony had disappeared. Bilbo hoped, perhaps foolishly, that the pony had managed to get away.

They reached the edge of the forest, and Fíli helped Kíli sit against a tree. They looked out towards the field.

The wagon was now on fire, and if any of their captors had survived the attack, Bilbo could no longer see them. The orcs that had congregated around the wagon were beginning to spread out, and a few of the wargs were trotting towards the forest, their snouts low to the ground.

"Out of the frying pan…" Fíli muttered.

"What are we going to do?" Bilbo's heart was pounding painfully in his chest, and he was sure if Fíli wasn't with him, he might have lost his wits entirely.

"We head deeper into the forest." Fíli fixed him with a steely, determined look that was entirely his own. "No matter what happens, we have to find a way to survive."


	14. Chapter 14

**Warning for a rather gruesome death in this chapter. And no, it's not a good guy.**

**Chapter 14**

Bilbo's lungs were burning, his ribs hurt from when he'd fallen, and it felt as though fear and desperation were the only things keeping him upright.

They'd taken a moment to pry their shackles off with their scavenged weapons, and then Fíli had urged them further into the forest. The growls of the wargs grew ever closer, and Bilbo wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to press on. The others didn't seem to be in great shape either—Kíli was leaning heavily on Fíli as they stumbled through the brush.

A hidden root caught his foot, and Bilbo fell onto his hands and knees, breathing hard.

"Here." Fíli stretched out a hand. His brow was damp with sweat, but by some miracle he seemed as though he could run for another dozen miles.

"Fíli, we can't keep going like this," Bilbo said. "Kíli's in no shape to keep running."

"I can—" Kíli sucked in a sharp breath and pressed the hand that Fíli wasn't gripping to his side. "I can keep going."

Bilbo and Fíli exchanged a glance. They both knew they couldn't keep running forever, not in their condition, and not from wargs.

Bilbo stood with a wince. "I'll try and draw them away."

"No," Fíli said, his brow drawing low into a scowl.

"I'm faster, and I'll be able to hide more easily. You stay with Kíli, keep him safe until the orcs are gone."

"I can't let you do this." Fíli's composure finally cracked, a sliver of fear shining in his eyes.

"I'll be all right." Bilbo didn't have the courage to try for a smile. "I'll try and circle back here if…when I'm finished."

"We can stand our ground together." Fíli reached out for him, pleading.

"No." He shook his head. "There's too many of them. I have to lead them away. _This_ is how we survive."

The resistance in Fíli's gaze finally crumbled. He stepped forward, and both brothers pulled him into an embrace.

"Durin be with you," Fíli said.

"You'd better come back." Kíli squeezed his shoulder weakly, then released him.

"You'll need this more than me." Fíli traded his dwarvish short sword for the orcish blade Bilbo was carrying.

"Just stay low." Bilbo took a couple steps back. "And stay safe."

He turned away, blinking back tears. This wasn't the end. But even if it was…he prayed Fíli and Kíli would be all right. He prayed he would be able to make a difference now that his abilities were gone.

Bilbo gripped his new sword and started running. It didn't take long for him to spot a warg trotting in the distance. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Hey!" Then waved his hand as it turned towards him with a snarl.

The warg lunged through the brush, and Bilbo turned on his heel and broke into a sprint. He moved as though the hot breath of the beast was already against the back of his neck. A shout went up from the trees, and he knew the rest of the orcs had discovered him.

An arrow hissed through the air nearby, and Bilbo ducked instinctively. He could hear the warg giving chase behind him, growing closer by the second. He spotted a fallen tree trunk leaning against a rock and ducked beneath it. The warg shot past him, its paws skidding through the brush.

In the next moment, Bilbo was on his feet and running again. He took every narrow path and tiny opening he saw. Each breath seared his chest, and his limbs felt unbelievably heavy, but he didn't dare stop.

He dove between two bushes and stopped short as an orc appeared before him, brandishing its knife with a snarl. Behind him, he could hear more crashing through the brush.

His throat dry, Bilbo gripped his sword and looked for a way out. Arrows flitted through the trees around him.

The orc in front of him charged, and Bilbo raised his weapon to parry its first blow. It had been a long while since he'd had to fight, and he took a couple steps back to get his bearings. The stiff branches of the bush behind him pressed against his legs.

He ducked under the orc's horizontal swipe and slashed at the exposed skin of its stomach. Black blood splattered against the foliage. The orc backhanded him with its free hand, and he stumbled. It raised its knife for a downward strike—then stopped as an arrow appeared in his chest.

Bilbo's eyes widened as he recognized the slender fletching. That was no orcish arrow.

Green-clad figures were moving through the trees with a deadly grace he'd only seen in Mirkwood. The arrows had stopped as the elves drew their swords and cut down the orcs.

Relief nearly left him breathless. Help had finally arrived.

As much as he wanted to lie down in the brush and not get up until he'd had a full night's sleep, Bilbo forced himself to his feet and charged at the nearest orc. He slashed at its leg, making it stumble, then cut its throat.

Another orc roared from behind him. Bilbo ducked, and its blade cut into the tree next to him, sending chips of wood flying. He spun, ready to strike, but it caught him by the throat and pushed him against the tree. Bilbo choked and slashed at the orc's arm. It grunted, but didn't let go.

A blue-glowing blade sang through the air, cleaving the orc's head from its shoulders. The orc collapsed, and Bilbo's knees buckled as he gasped for air.

A pair of steady, warm hands caught his shoulders and held him upright. "Bilbo, are you all right?"

"_Thorin_." This time it was relief that nearly brought him to his knees, but Bilbo kept his feet, leaning into the dwarf's chest despite the blood-spattered mail he was wearing.

"I'm here." Thorin's arms went around him, holding him tightly, and Bilbo could have wept for the aching warmth that appeared in his chest. "I've got you."

Bilbo allowed himself another moment of reprieve, then pulled back. "How did you find us?"

"I'll tell you once this is over." Thorin released him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Where are my nephews?"

"Somewhere else in the forest. Kíli is injured, so I tried to draw the orcs away." Bilbo grasped Thorin's arm and began leading him back the way he'd come. "This way."

They set off through the brush, taking a slower pace as Bilbo tried to remember the path he'd taken. The orcs were scattered, many of them already lying with elvish arrows in their throats and torsos. The few that came at them were quickly dispatched by Thorin.

"How badly is Kíli hurt?" Thorin asked.

"He was hit on the head pretty hard, and I think his ribs are bruised." Bilbo pushed aside a low-hanging tree branch. "I don't think his injuries life-threatening, but he is in no shape to run or fight."

A shout went up from somewhere in the forest, and Thorin cursed under his breath and increased his pace. Bilbo struggled to keep up with him, the throbbing in his side from his earlier fall growing more insistent.

They found Fíli and Kíli in the clearing where Bilbo had left them, but they were not alone. The towering figure of Bolg stood in the center, his pale skin clearly visible against the trees, holding Fíli up by his throat while the dwarf struggled in his grip. The orcish knife, slick with black blood, was sticking out of the back of his shoulder. Kíli was lying on his stomach a few feet away.

Terror shot all the way down to Bilbo's toes. He expected some sort of cry of outrage from Thorin, but the dwarf moved with a deadly, livid quiet as he lunged forward and cut a deep gash in Bolg's side.

The orc snarled, tossing Fíli to the ground, and swung the mace in his other hand towards Thorin. He ducked under the blow and attacked again, but Bolg blocked the strike with the handle of his mace.

Bilbo decided to leave them to it for the moment. Fíli was on all fours, coughing and gasping for air, and that was enough to assure him that he was at least conscious. Bilbo skirted around the clearing and knelt down next to Kíli, rolling him over onto his back with some difficulty. He was still breathing, thankfully, though he looked no better than when Bilbo had last seen him.

Kíli let out a groan and winced. "Bilbo?" He tried to sit up, and hissed through his teeth.

"Take it easy." Bilbo put a hand on his shoulder. He needed to get Kíli away from this mess. Thorin and Bolg were still trading blows, though neither had gained an advantage over the other. "Can you walk?"

"Just give me a minute." Kíli clamped a hand over his side and tried again to push himself up.

Bilbo turned back to the fight, and his eyes widened as he spotted another orc coming through the trees. "Thorin, behind you!"

Thorin turned to block the blow of the newcomer, and Bolg raised his mace.

_No. Not again_.

Bilbo launched himself across the clearing and leapt onto Bolg's back. He took hold of the knife in the orc's shoulder, pulling downwards with all his strength. Bolg roared in pain, his mace falling from his grip and nearly striking Bilbo as it fell.

A hand fisted in the back of his waistcoat, and Bilbo cried out as he was pulled over Bolg's other shoulder and slammed against the ground with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. He managed to roll out of the way a second before Bolg's boot crashed down where his head had just been.

Thorin moved closer and sliced deep into Bolg's chest. Fíli leapt forward and snatched the knife from Bolg's shoulder, driving it deep into his back. Seething, the orc turned and backhanded Fíli.

Fíli staggered and wiped a streak of blood from his mouth. "Just die already, you piece of shit!"

The orc was clearly losing his strength, but Thorin moved with as much brutal efficiency as ever as he sliced the back of Bolg's knee, then drove the pommel of his sword into his shoulder, finally sending the orc crashing onto his back. He thrust his sword through Bolg's stomach, pinning him to the forest floor. Bolg sneered up at him, black blood bubbling through his pointed teeth.

Thorin held a hand out, his voice cold and furious as he said, "The knife, Fíli."

"No."

They all turned towards Kíli as he finally pushed himself to his feet, breathing hard.

"No," he repeated hoarsely, glaring at Bolg. "He's mine."

Kíli limped over to the discarded mace, lifted it with both hands, and swung it in a wide overhead arc. It slammed into Bolg's head, and Bilbo winced as his skull shattered beneath the sudden weight.

As they stood in the clearing, breathing hard, Bilbo realized the forest had fallen silent. The growls of the orcs and the snarls of the wargs had disappeared.

With a choked groan, Kíli fell forward, and Fíli rushed forward to catch him.

Thorin pulled his sword from Bolg's corpse and draped Kíli's arm over his shoulders. "Are either of you hurt?" he asked, looking between Bilbo and Fíli.

"I'll be all right," Bilbo said, still trying to catch his breath.

Fíli wiped some more blood from his face. "I can't believe you found us."

"I'm only glad I could reach you in time." Thorin briefly pressed his forehead against Fíli's, then wrapped his free arm around Kíli's back. "Let's get out of here. I'm taking you all home."

* * *

The elves were waiting on the edge of the forest, and so were Glóin, Dori, Nori, Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur, all of them wielding weapons stained with black blood.

The dwarves let out a relieved murmur at the sight of their group, and Dori stepped forward and immediately began fussing over Fíli and Kíli.

Bofur stepped forward and swept Bilbo into a hug. "Thank Mahal. We were all so worried."

Bilbo smiled and returned the embrace. Adrenaline and fear were trickling away, and with his relief came a heavy exhaustion.

Thorin left Kíli in Dori's care as one of the elves stepped forward. If Bilbo remembered correctly, this was Tauriel, Captain of the Guard and the elf who had originally rounded them up when they'd been captured in Mirkwood.

She stood tall, her hands clasped behind her back. "The rest of the orcs have been dispatched. I sent a scout to search the forest, but I doubt he will find anything of note."

Thorin nodded, his disposition changing from battle-ready to regal. "You have my thanks for your aid. This will not be forgotten by myself or my kin."

Tauriel's gaze flickered towards Kíli. "If you are in need of assistance in regards to your wounded—"

"We have healers in Erebor," Thorin said. "My nephew will be tended to there."

Something like apprehension flickered across her face. "With your permission, your majesty…I have considerable skill in the art of healing. It would only take a few moments to ascertain that none of his injures are in need of immediate attention."

Thorin was silent for a moment. Bilbo stepped forward, ready to intervene, but he said, "Very well." He turned to the other dwarves. "The rest of you, mount up. I want to return to the mountain as soon as possible."

The dwarves moved towards the large goats waiting in a cluster a little ways off. Thorin pulled Bilbo off to the side, where they might have a private word.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked lowly, looking him over with worried eyes.

"In truth, I don't think there's a part of me that isn't bruised or sore, but I don't believe it to be anything serious," Bilbo said, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince. "The best treatment would probably be a hot bath and a good night's rest in a real bed."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Thorin said, warmth overtaking worry.

Bilbo smiled as a strange exaltation overtook him, and he was struck by just how _glad_ he was that Thorin was here with him, and that they were both (mostly) all right. He glanced at the elves, who were preparing their own horses for the journey home. "You asked the elves for help."

"I did. As soon as I realized what had happened…" He paused, recollection flickering darkly over his brow. "It was a stroke of luck that the elves were able to pick up your trail. And we were fortunate to have them with us when we realized the orcs were attacking." He met Bilbo's eyes. "My pride does not come before the wellbeing of those I love. And I am sorry that it took such a drastic situation for me to act on it."

"Thorin." Bilbo took both his hands and squeezed them. "You acted in time, and you saved us. I never lost faith that you would be able to do the right thing." He leaned up and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. He pulled back, and was relieved when a smile broke through the dark cloud of worry on Thorin's face.

They both turned as Tauriel approached, her footsteps light even on the dry grass.

"Kí—The prince's ribs are bruised, and he is likely suffering from a concussion, but with the proper treatment he will make a full recovery," she said, and Bilbo thought he could detect a note of relief in her voice.

"Thank you," Thorin said. "We will see to it that he is taken care of."

The others were already mounted on their goats, with Fíli seated behind Bifur and Dori helping Kíli onto his mount. Most of the other dwarves were paired up, and Thorin took Bilbo by the hand and led him to the last empty one.

Bilbo wasn't eager to be so far from the ground after his recent tumble off the pony, but as Thorin mounted behind him, taking up the reins and securing him between his arms, Bilbo could not deny that he felt quite safe.

**I read somewhere that gorillas don't have enough brain power to immediately realize that they're dead, so they'll keep attacking even if they have seventeen bullets in their chest, and I thought Bolg would be like that as well. I know that last fight was a bit gory, I've been playing a lot of The Last of Us 2 so it's kind of on my mind now haha**

**We're just about wrapped up now, next chapter will be an epilogue of sorts with that happy ending I promised :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Bilbo woke feeling sore, but warm and comfortable all the same. He blinked in the dim light, fingers brushing over unfamiliar sheets, then remembered where he was and let out a sigh of relief.

He'd been exhausted during the journey back, but some leftover adrenaline or fear had kept him from dozing off. Once Óin had looked over his injuries, which had mostly consisted of some bad bruising, Thorin had taken him back to the royal quarters. He'd drawn a hot bath for him, and afterwards Bilbo had fallen asleep with Thorin's arms around him.

He'd been too tired for anything else, but Bilbo reminded himself that they still had today, and tomorrow, and many days more ahead of them. This was not a dream or another branching path that did not belong to him. This was _his_ time, and he intended to enjoy every moment of it.

Bilbo rolled over and smiled at Thorin's sleeping form. He looked so serious, even asleep, but his brow was free from the tension and worry it usually carried. Bilbo reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from his face and let his hand linger. His fingers brushed against the softness of his beard, the solid ridge of his jaw beneath.

Without opening his eyes, Thorin turned and pressed a light kiss to Bilbo's palm. Bilbo laughed softly and let his hand rest on the bedsheets between them.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

Thorin finally opened his eyes, and they were full of affection. "There is no other way I'd rather be woken."

They gazed at each other in silence for a long moment. Bilbo had never felt this sort of intimacy with another person, but now he wasn't sure how he'd lived for so long without it. He felt quite content, as though some long-neglected hunger within him had finally been satisfied.

He closed the distance between them and kissed Thorin, gently at first but with the suggestion of more. And Thorin gave it to him, his fingers threading through Bilbo's curls as he deepened the kiss. The heat he'd felt in the alcove returned in full force, and Bilbo became fully aware of the fact that they were in bed together—fully clothed, but entwined beneath the sheets nonetheless.

Bilbo grasped Thorin's shirt, pulling it upwards, but Thorin laid a hand over his, stopping him. He broke the kiss and took in a shaky breath.

"I…I want this. But there is much that demands my attention today, and I fear I may already be starting later than usual." Thorin pulled back, the apology clear in his gaze.

"Right." Bilbo took his hand away, feeling disappointed but not offended. "I understand."

"We will continue this tonight." Thorin cupped his cheek, fingers gently tracing the shell of his ear. "I promise."

Bilbo smiled. "And hopefully there will be no more kidnappers lurking in hidden corners."

"No. I will never allow you to be put in that kind of danger again." A protective fire had entered his gaze as his hand shifted to the back of Bilbo's neck. "I would not have you leave my side for…" He hesitated. "For as long as you would have me."

"I suppose I'll be stuck with you for quite some time, then."

And Bilbo leaned over and kissed him once more.

* * *

Bilbo placed the last of his neatly folded trousers into the box at his feet. He was nearly done packing up all his things, and was rather glad his quarters were not as cluttered as Bag End, or his task would have increased tenfold.

It had been several months since they'd begun their courtship, and Thorin had finally asked Bilbo to come live in the royal quarters with him. It did make sense, seeing as he did sleep and eat there more often than not. Back home, it would have been an enormous scandal, not least because they weren't even married yet, but Bilbo found he didn't mind at all. The rest of his friends had been delighted as well, though the suggestive comments from Bofur had somehow only grown more frequent.

Bilbo moved on to his waistcoats, of which he didn't really have many. His hand brushed against something crumpled in the back, and he pulled it out. It was his burgundy waistcoat, the one he'd worn during his imprisonment and subsequent escape. It was stained and torn in several places, and obviously unfit to wear. He wasn't sure why he'd even kept it all this time.

But it did serve as a reminder that he needed some new clothes. Bilbo put his waistcoat to the side and stretched. He could use a break for the moment, and there were a few things he needed to get from the market anyway.

It was a short walk from his quarters to the new street where the market had been set up. It was one of his favorite places to go during his free time—there was a wide open area filled with stalls selling food and small trinkets. The mixture of smells was mouthwatering, and he took a moment to grab a pastry and say hello to a few dwarves he'd grown friendly with. Further down was a street lined with different artisans and craftsmen. There was also a tavern, and he'd spent many an afternoon sharing drinks with Bofur and Bombur.

Erebor had flourished with the arrival of the Blue Mountain dwarves. Their presence, along with the defeat of the orcs, had inspired a new unity and pride among the dwarves. As the weather grew warmer, food and supplies became more plentiful, and life was coming back to the kingdom each day. There had been no more attempts on Thorin's life or open dissent, and as the days passed, Bilbo began to think that the treason and gold sickness had been only a symptom of a storm that was finally passing.

Bilbo suspected these improvements also had something to do with Dís. He'd finally been able to meet her upon her arrival in Erebor, and had taken an immediate liking to her. She was as strong-willed as her brother, with the spark of humor that resembled her sons, and a likable warmth that was all her own. She was also a capable leader, as Bilbo had seen after sitting in on a couple council meetings, and he was sure Erebor would not be the same without her.

She seemed to like him as well, and he was glad of it. They would often sit together and share tea, or play cards with Fíli and Kíli. On the rare occasion that Thorin had a free evening, the five of them would have dinner together. These moments made Bilbo feel as though he was part of a family, in a way he hadn't experienced in many years.

Finally, he came to the end of the street, where the seamstress was. He had never been inside the shop, but he'd caught glimpses of colorful of swaths of fabric while passing by, and he figured it would be as good a place to start as any.

Bilbo pushed open the door and stepped inside. There were racks of colorful cloth against one wall, and a work table scattered with different tools. A pleasant floral scent permeated the air.

The only thing missing was a seamstress. He looked around again, then knocked on the doorframe. "Hello?"

"Give me one moment," a voice called from the doorway in the back of the room.

Bilbo walked over to a large table pushed against one wall. There was the beginning of a long coat made of dark green fabric, the hem of it half-stitched.

A dwarf stepped out of the back room, making him look up. "Hello. How can I be of service, Master Hobbit?"

Her dark hair was pinned back from her face and streaked with gray. And woven through her beard were several bronze beads.

Bilbo's breath caught in his throat, and tears suddenly pricked his eyes.

Vistra stepped closer. "Is everything all right?"

Of course, she would not remember him. Technically, they had never met. Bilbo took a moment to compose himself. "Y-Yes, I'm quite all right. I was just…admiring your work, here." He glanced back at the table. "I came to enquire about a new waistcoat."

"That should be no problem. I'll take your measurements, and then we'll discuss fabrics, yes?" If she suspected something was wrong, she said nothing of it. She turned on her heel, business-like, and gestured for him to follow her into the back room.

Bilbo swallowed back the lump in his throat. Seeing her again had caused the sense of loss in his heart to resurface, but he was immeasurably glad that she had survived Smaug's attack.

And more than that, there was a chance now for a new beginning.

**And that concludes our story! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you to themuse123 for all the lovely reviews and being such a lovely cheerleader in general. Keep your eye out for more bagginshield stories; I'm definitely not done with these two just yet!**


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